


To Touch Your Face, Your Hands, and Gaze Into Your Eyes

by Edwardina



Series: The Cherish 'Verse [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: AU, D/s AU, Deliberate Badfic, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Pet Names, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another continuation of <i>Cherish Is the Word I'd Use</i>.  Kurt wrestles with the things he wants to do to Sam.  Sam becomes more confident in sharing his feelings.  Awkwardly, so does Blaine.  Quinn's present gets opened and exchanged for something Sam likes a lot more, which Kurt finds intriguing.  They wind up on a date that ends in a brush with subspace and Kurt literally tucking his sub in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Touch Your Face, Your Hands, and Gaze Into Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This returns to Kurt's perspective and straddles events in 218. Title from "Cherish" by The Association.
> 
> Thanks to Kate for always helping me consider this 'verse with patience.

Kurt had made plans for his sub. Oh, yes.

Telling Finn he owed Quinn for paying so much attention to Rachel and owed Kurt for helping to hang all those important campaign posters, he'd steered him into going out with his Domme after school. His dad needed no encouragement to put in overtime at the tire shop. Kurt was usually so insistent that he shouldn't that his dad said, "What, is it Father's Day already?" And all it took was an innocent inquiry about how Cardio Barre was going for Carole's guilt over her lack of attendance to inspire her to attend Tuesday's session.

With his halo glinting, he'd successfully maneuvered his whole household and locked at least a couple of hours of utter privacy after glee; he intended to spend every second he'd earned giving Sam all the domming the guy could handle.

His poor sub... who was apparently literally, actually poor.

Kurt didn't know how he hadn't realized sooner – somehow, it wasn't a total shock. Small things suddenly added up and provided a more whole picture: The way Sam always politely found ways around Kurt's offers to give him a ride home after glee; his modest lunches; the way he gave his paycheck to his parents; the way he looked tired more often than not; his general difficulty with believing he was worthwhile.

Now Kurt could see it wasn't just bad luck with girls that had taken a toll on Sam's spirits. It wasn't that the relationships hadn't been damaging, but they were underscored by the loss of his home and possessions and privacy. It was the daily strain of feeling like it all rested on him to keep his family off the streets on top of the way he felt he'd failed as a sub.

It wasn't exactly a fair situation for a sixteen-year-old to be in, but Kurt related. After all, it had only been last fall that his dad had suffered his cardiac arrhythmia and been comatose. Kurt had handled all the medical arrangements and household affairs himself. He'd even overseen matters at the tire shop to the best of his ability. He'd icily shunned aid from any party that showed him concern. He could not accept comfort, because that meant he needed comfort, and that meant grief, and he couldn't handle that. He would not and could not acknowledge the idea of a plan greater than his own and beyond his control, or the dam in him might have cracked and he might have lost whatever strength it was that kept him going to school like normal and able to do his French homework at his dad's bedside.

Before Sunday, Kurt wouldn't have said he and Sam were very alike, but he found he completely understood the private way Sam was bearing his load. Still, if the opportunity had somehow presented itself to take on a sub while his dad was in the hospital, Kurt actually doubted he would have considered himself able to handle it. He would have closed himself off entirely. But Sam hadn't. Sam wasn't aloof, even though he'd been trodden on. He had an open heart and his desire to give himself was powerful.

And Sam's faith in his Dom had obviously taken a huge leap forward. Sam had told him something private and personal, something that had been weighing on him. Now Kurt knew just how badly Sam needed the stability of a responsible, interested Dom. Sam had even asked Kurt not to go lightly on him. If he was afraid of losing even more than he had already lost or of Kurt thinking he was damaged goods, no good as a sub, he didn't need to be. Kurt thought that the best way to take care of his sub was to simply carry on exactly as before. Sam deserved a safe space beyond the discretionary, a role to fill and rules to follow and a hand to hold. He wanted time with Sam that he just couldn't get at school without using one of the passes Ms. Pillsbury had written for him. Kurt thought a good long session in comfortable privacy would go a long way to reassure him after making himself so vulnerable. 

But even prior to Sam confiding in him, Kurt had been pining to keep going, to keep dominating Sam in this new physical way. Since Sam had been asking for it, he thought he'd definitely let Sam have the chance to suck his dick again...

Tying Sam up hadn't really been part of his plans.

At least, Kurt didn't think so. Like, he hadn't thought about it... specifically... to do that day...

Like, of course he'd thought about it in general. Sam's fully customized cuffs did have rings on them specifically for that use. Kurt knew restraining Sam was kinda something he wanted to try someday. He didn't know why, exactly; there was something about muscular guys, in particular, that he liked seeing both in positions of power (lifting weights, being all athletic and sweaty and capable) and, um... subdued. He liked it when all the physical strength these guys had was taken from them and given to their Doms. He liked seeing them rendered helpless – and yeah, there was probably some kind of psychological reason behind it all. He wasn't beyond admitting that. But whatever. It was so freakin' hot. He still didn't like porn, but Kurt made plenty of accidental discoveries and had saved lots of interesting jpgs. Well before he was even out of the closet, he'd even learned some basic knots on old shoelaces with the help of some videos meant to aid Boy Scouts. (Actually, it had kind of given him a warped interest in Boy Scouts.)

But he hadn't talked about any of it with Sam before. Not even once. There was no guarantee they were ever going to get physical, so he simply hadn't gone there. They had never talked about anything like whether Sam would like being restrained. But Kurt had tied Sam's hands behind his back anyway, and loved it. Freaking loved it.

Again, not part of his plans. Not, not, not something he'd intended to do beforehand.

He'd felt guilty pretty instantly.

While Sam had whuffled nakedly on his furry bedspread next to the fresh splatter of his own come, seeming so totally out of it that it was both thrilling and frightening, Kurt had wrung his hands. Had this been too much? Had he gone too far? Kurt hadn't exactly put Sam on a rack, but still.

On autopilot, Kurt instinctively turned to what he found comforting and relaxing... candles, low light, and divas crooning soulfully. He considered making some honeyed herbal tea, but he just couldn't make himself leave the room for longer than the fifteen seconds it took him to create a little water feature. He really didn't want to leave Sam's side, even though Sam was conked out. Actually, he didn't know if Sam was really asleep or really awake; he thought it was obvious Sam was in his own private Idaho, but he had no idea what that was like or if it was the same phenomenon as subspace. Ms. Pillsbury's scary pamphlet had definitely done its job and impressed upon him the importance of aftercare. But even if he'd never been handed the pamphlet, Kurt knew when he was needed. His dad would've figured one Slim Jim couldn't hurt and dropped dead last year if it hadn't been for Kurt taking total control of what food entered their house and what he ate and when. If you asked him, he could've written the damn pamphlet.

No-nonsense, he'd massaged his sub's arms, rousing him up not just out of sleep but out of his dreamy state, earning himself soft little gasps and exhales, given free and unawares – so sweet. Sam's arms were heavy and limp, just like his body on the bed. He'd responded to Kurt, though, wonderously at first, then seeming to wake up further and further, tuning back in to the real world.

Now Sam was eating quiche.

Kurt kind of couldn't believe it, but there Sam was, sitting at his family's dinner table, wolfing down leftover mini-quiche along with the salad Carole had made. The quiche boasted loads of cheese – granted, it was low-fat cheese and Kurt used egg whites on account of his dad's health, but Sam didn't eat dairy at all, and those crusts weren't part of his diet, either. And Sam made his way through quite a few. Kurt had never seen Sam eat with so much vigor. Ever. He'd only ever seen him slowly make his way through plain rabbit food at lunch or cooperatively munch on something Kurt handed to him. At Breadstix Easter Sunday, he'd carefully eaten around the pasta in his minestrone and didn't even have crutons or dressing on his salad, and had not seemed to have much of an appetite, anyway.

Kurt almost spoke up, wondering if his sub might regret this indulgence later, but Sam looked like he was starving, and didn't seem to be thinking about anything other than the deliciousness of what he was shoveling into his mouth. It was so unguarded and un-shy. Kurt really liked it. He could sense Sam felt comfortable with him and Carole, and it occurred to him that he hadn't ever seen Sam looking very comfortable. He wasn't about to interrupt that.

"Would you like more quiche, Sam?" Carole asked him. "We have lots of those spinach and white cheddar ones left."

"Yeah, I would – this is so good. But – I should probably pass, actually. I'm kinda cheating on my diet," Sam confessed, before shamelessly stuffing nearly an entire muffin-sized mini-quiche into his mouth.

"Aren't we all," Carole said. Kurt watched Sam's eyes glow warmly, something in his expression informing Kurt that he was happy he wasn't the only one. "This kind of stuff isn't really good for Kurt's dad, but every now and then, you just gotta have some cheese or life gets boring."

"Amen," said Kurt. "How about some water, Sam? Would you like a refill?"

"Mm!" Sam hummed, his mouth full.

Kurt happily poured him some more from the pitcher and watched Sam drain it all in one go.

"I'd really love to lose another fifteen pounds, but when you get to be my age, it can be hard to get results," Carole was lamenting. "I don't think I'll ever get back to my ancient pre-pregnancy weight, but I have some old jeans I'd just love to fit into again... don't look at me like that, Kurt. I just kept one pair for sentimental reasons!"

"Hoo boy," said Kurt, pouring Sam another glass. He could still see the acid wash denim vests he'd pried from Carole's hands a year ago in his nightmares and thought he'd gotten rid of it all in a brutal fashion Clinton and Stacy would be proud of, but apparently not.

"You young guys, though. You're in the best shape of your life. Enjoy it."

"Oh, God, I hope this isn't the best shape I'll ever be in," Kurt said.

"I'd kinda like to lose a few pounds," Sam admitted.

"Don't be ridiculous," Kurt told him. "You're fit as a fiddle, and I would much rather play you than a fiddle."

Sam wiped his mouth, blushing deeply, as Carole laughed.

"You're lucky your dad's at the garage," she said.

"Oh, should I tone it down? The kids at school are always telling me to tone it down."

"That's okay, honey. I'm getting used to your little quips. Don't worry, Sam, it was just a compliment from your Dom," she added kindly. Sam was hiding much of his face in the clutch of his napkin. Kurt gave his knee a sneaky squeeze under the table.

After dinner, Kurt's sub helped rinse his plate and load it into the dishwasher, then followed Kurt upstairs. They still had another couple of hours to hang before Sam's curfew – which, at nine-thirty, seemed kind of early to Kurt, given that Sam often worked till eleven or twelve at night – and Kurt was determined to fill the whole time with extra attention.

"I ate way too much," Sam said, a broad hand on his stomach.

"You seemed really hungry!" Kurt commented, shutting the door behind them.

"Yeah. I was super hungry. I haven't been so hungry in a long time."

Kurt pulled the chain on the nearest lamp, which was on his dresser next to the wrinkled scarf he'd used to bind Sam's cuffs, brightening up the room now that the sun was going down.

"Well, in that case, I'm glad you were fine with leftovers. You drank lots of water, too."

"Yeah."

"If you were really cheating on your diet eating any of that stuff, don't let yourself worry about it. It wasn't too nefarious, I promise. Indulgence has its place, but I actually like to make healthier versions of things. And I know pretty much everything you put in your mouth, don't I, honey?"

"Nefarious?" Sam echoed, puzzled. But instead of asking Kurt what he meant by that, he commented, "You kinda like watching me eat..."

"Yep, I do," Kurt acknowledged, dropping himself happily on the bed. Before they'd headed down, he'd rolled up the furry spread stained with his sub's come and put it on the floor beside his bed, hidden from view. It was really getting grungy, but he just hadn't yet had it in his heart to give it some scrubbing and take it to the dry cleaners. He loved seeing the evidence of Sam's helpless submission way too much. "Does that bother you? Me watching you eat?"

"No, not at all," Sam said. "I mean, I like when you... like stuff. I dunno."

Kurt tilted his head, fondly considering the way Sam was standing there in his jeans and non-descript gray t-shirt, which Kurt had helped him back into as dinnertime beared down on them. Sam's arms had been feeling, as he phrased it, like limp noodles. His coordination was shot, and he'd seemed a little clumsy when coming down the stairs, but it seemed to pick up when he had a plate of food in front of him. Sam's fingers were slouched awkwardly into his pockets now, his cuffs back in place.

Maybe it was the outfit, but Kurt was reminded that in his closet waited a gift that still needed to be opened.

"I didn't think about it till now 'cause I was kind of eager to pounce on you, but if you want, you can open that present from Quinn," Kurt said. "I put it in my closet so I wouldn't be tempted to peek any more than I had already."

"You peeked?"

"Yes, I admit, I took a little peek."

Sam looked worried.

"You don't have to open it if you don't want to," Kurt reminded him.

"I don't?"

"Not if it makes you uncomfortable."

"I dunno how it makes me feel," Sam admitted.

"I have mixed feelings about it, too. I'm kind of irritated with Quinn," Kurt said, quite bluntly. "I do think she's trying to be nice, but I also think she's trying to retain some kind of emotional tie to you that, knowing her, she might try and manipulate into more at any given time – regardless of the fact that you're mine and she has Finn to manipulate all she wants."

Kurt watched his sub's eyes squint thoughtfully.

He continued, "Let's face it, she has priors that for me, as your Dom and Finn's step-brother, are really hard to ignore. I think she likes having boys on the line she can reel in when she decides she wants them. I think she's got Puck and Finn hooked, and she'd probably love it if you were still on her line, too. I mean... it's not that I don't want you to be friends with her... you're a big boy, Sam. You can be friends with whoever you want. I trust you totally."

"No, it's –" Sam took a second to get his thoughts in order. "I wanna be friends with Quinn, I really do. It's kinda hard, but still. I don't wanna treat her bad 'cause of – everything. I forgive her. But it's nice I'm not the only one with... mixed feelings. It makes me feel like a bad person to think like that," he added. "I know she's just probably feeling sorry for me. It was nice of her to get me... whatever."

Kurt nodded sympathetically, because it was clearly tough for Sam to admit that his feelings about anything concerning her included mistrustful ones.

"Want me to spoil you?" he asked. 

"Uh. How?"

Kurt bit down a smile. "On something I know she got you."

His sub, who may well have been thinking about a different kind of spoiling, said, "'Kay."

"I spied with my little eye some Macy's tags and seersucker," sang Kurt. "I'm willing to bet you just about anything that girl hit up the Easter sales."

Sam's brows furrowed gently. "What-sucker?"

"Shirts. They seem nice. Probably for church," said Kurt. "They don't seem like ones you'd wear to school."

Looking for all the world like he couldn't comprehend why Quinn would buy him clothes, Sam stared at the floor, but now her offer to take Sam shopping and comment about knowing Sam's sizes made more sense to Kurt, at least.

Kurt was sure he knew every single thing Sam had in his school wardrobe, between his sharp eye and memory for clothes being near photographic. He'd never lent too much extra thought to the way Sam dressed, because it seemed to be thoughtless in itself. It was the way most high school boys dressed, which was to say, his wardrobe seemed to be exclusively made up of t-shirts, jeans, hoodies, and plaid button-downs. It was kind of like the jock uniform. But since poking his nose into that bag, he'd realized it had been a while since he'd seen that blue tee with the red distressed logo and that brown striped shirt that fit Sam's torso like a second skin, amongst numerous other articles, and he wondered if Sam had lost them or sold them to a second-hand shop.

"The bag is on the heavy side for just having a few shirts in it," Kurt added, watching Sam simply stand there with a bothered expression on his face. "So there's probably other stuff in there, too."

"God. She didn't have to do that," Sam murmured, almost affronted. Then he looked right at Kurt, gaze piercing. "Did you like them?"

"They seemed nice. Like good basics."

Apparently this was something that warranted some hardcore thought, by the expressions pulling across Sam's face. Kurt almost wanted to laugh, but he kept it back.

"She said I could exchange them," Sam finally said, with intense eyes. "There's receipts."

"It wouldn't hurt to try them on and see what you think," said Kurt, smiling. "And if you don't like 'em, I say exchange 'em for something you do like. It's pointless to have clothes you don't want to wear. I mean, what good are they going to do you, right?"

Sam blinked thoughtfully.

"I just ate, so they probably won't fit," he said.

"Aw. You don't need to try them on right this instant, or anything. Wanna come over here and lie down with me for a little while?" Kurt proposed. He wanted to follow up about Sam's arms, and see if he was feeling okay now that he was less limp and dazed.

"Yeah, is that... cool? With your stepmom here?"

"Well, I should probably let you keep your shirt on this time."

"You don't wanna see me with my shirt off right now anyway," said Sam, drifting toward Kurt.

"Oh, don't I, though," Kurt groaned playfully, scooting back.

He patted the spot next to him, which was where Sam had slept the one time he'd spent the night, and enjoyed watching Sam climb onto the bed from this vantage point as much as he'd enjoyed it when Sam had been drunk and super confused about how blankets even worked. Slumping back against the pillows between him and the headboard with a round sigh, Sam settled next to him. Kurt had somehow gotten accustomed to curling up on Sam when Sam was laid out for him like this. His instinct to roll himself onto his side and edge in over Sam, pin him to the mattress, was actually a lot stronger than he expected.

"So you're feeling pretty full, huh?" Kurt asked. Instead of climbing onto him, he reached over and took Sam's hand, friendly, just gazing at him.

"Kinda," Sam said. Kurt could tell he was a little surprised, since his low monotone tended to get higher whenever he was tense, and the word was soft and out of his upper throat. He was looking down at their hands joining, or maybe at their legs stretched out in front of them. His fingers twined tightly into Kurt's.

"What else?" Kurt asked.

"Uh... well. Kinda... nervous, a little."

"Nervous? Why nervous?"

"Uh, just – I dunno. My heart's beating kinda fast. I don't know why," Sam said sheepishly. "Probably my blood sugar going totally nuts."

"Are you maybe... excited? Or is it more like a scared nervous?" Kurt wondered, reaching over his chest to rub at Sam's bicep warmly. It was really, really hard not to get right up on Sam, invade his space. He crossed his ankles, trying to remind himself to hold back. He was still wearing his boots, but Sam's feet were bare, and even that tiny imbalance pleased him to strange heights.

"Yeah, excited," said Sam, not hesitating. He added, "I get to be on your bed with you."

"Mm-hmm," Kurt hummed with warm satisfaction, smiling at him even though Sam was busy staring at Kurt's fingers playing with his t-shirt's sleeve.

"Kinda a little scared," Sam offered up.

Kurt didn't know whether he liked the sound of that. Well, he kind of did. But he wasn't trying to get a rise out of Sam right then. He'd witnessed his sub having a lot of profoundly vulnerable moments, but this was harmless and innocent – they were just holding hands. He hadn't even begun to put on his bossy boots. But he could feel that Sam was being open with him, and honest, without any coaxing to be honest in the first place. He didn't want to react in a way that would make Sam shy away from telling him how he felt at any given moment or feel the frightened instinct to keep secrets. He responded gently.

"What's scary?"

"I don't know," his sub repeated. "It's not like being scared, like – really afraid. It's just, like, all this energy. Like that kind you get before you go on stage or ask someone on a date when you don't know what they'll say."

"Oh? I've never actually asked someone out," Kurt said, but he'd seen just about every romantic comedy there was, and he was utterly thrilled at the idea that Sam felt that kind of hopeful anticipation and tension with him just lying there with him. "But I think I get what you mean. I feel a lot of energy when I'm with you."

Sam's lashes lifted. He met Kurt's gaze, somehow startled to hear that. He looked like he was thinking it over as he looked at Kurt, eyes unguarded and curious.

"Me too," he uttered in a small voice. "I feel a lot of stuff I don't know the words for."

"You're so precious," Kurt told him, heartfelt and smiling, cupping his cheek and finding it quite warm.

Sam's chin dipped low, and even though it wasn't a natural stretch by any means, he somehow managed to ease his forehead onto Kurt's shoulder, so timorous it just killed Kurt.

"C'mere, honey," he whispered. "You can cuddle up if you want to."

Sam seemed to want to. He hiked a knee so he could push his bare foot against the bedspread and lean himself tentatively onto his hip, fingers still twined with Kurt's, and actually rested his cheek on his Dom's shoulder, sweet as pie.

Kurt took a good minute just to gloat internally, chest swelling with pride and fingers fussing through Sam's hair, smoothing it along the side of his head and tucking it behind his ear. It really was on the shaggy side, and his darker blond roots were glaring, but it was like glimpsing the real Sam peeking out from behind the colored hair. After a minute, he became aware of Sam's heart beat knocking against his arm and smiled widely.

"You have lots of energy now that you've had some good dinner, huh?"

Sam hardly moved, but he could feel that rapid pulse and Sam's aura of eager submission as he nodded against Kurt's shoulder.

"Tell me, what's my sub thinking about?" Kurt prompted.

"... Touching you?"

"Ooh. How intriguing," Kurt said lightly. "Do you wanna?"

"Mm," Sam emitted, with a further nod.

"You can." Kurt could hardly believe he even needed to say it, but of course, he couldn't forget either Quinn's deep-reaching influence over Sam's instincts or the fact that Sam wasn't naturally inclined towards boys. Sam could be kind of awkward at the best of times anyway. So he added, "You don't have to be afraid to touch me."

"Your clothes," Sam said into his arm.

"What about them?"

"What if I touch them?"

"That's okay," Kurt assured him, thinking fondly of Sam's tendency to touch his sleeve to ask for attention.

"I don't – get under them... I don't undo them...?"

It took him a moment to remember that Sam was recalling a boundary Kurt had given him in the soft room at school.

"Since Carole's downstairs, we probably shouldn't strip down. Otherwise you can do whatever you feel like. Touch, don't touch. Whatever makes you happy. And you can ask me whatever, if you want to. I know how you like to ask for permission. You're such an attentive sub, Sam. It impresses me when you ask questions."

"Thanks," Sam breathed, although Kurt wasn't sure it was because of the praise or the permission. He lifted a hand and touched Kurt's chest tentatively, and God, Sam had big hands. Kurt giggled softly, pleased purely because it was cute to see his strong, athletic, masculine sub have such a shyness in his manner.

"You have my permission," he murmured, finding it worth emphasizing.

Sam's response was to shift his fingertips over and run them slowly over one suspender, feeling up the red stitching on the taupe elastic.

Kurt's mind boomeranged. It always came back to the same place. He was just so curious about the things Sam had experienced without him.

He kind of suspected Sam had been granted at least second base with Quinn. He didn't know for sure, but it just seemed likely that sessions with Quinn had gotten legitimately steamy a couple of times, if she'd ground on him and gotten him close to creaming himself. He'd been promised second base with Santana but had never gotten it, but had mentioned being excited to get his hands on her fake boobs. He bet his sub wouldn't have been quite as tentative touching Quinn or Santana.

Much more of a mystery was what Sam had done with his boarding school sub. That was how Kurt thought of whoever the guy was Sam had apparently once tried to dom, and everything about that was complicated. It hadn't worked out for Sam, but. It simultaneously riled up Kurt's possessive side and made him somewhat self-conscious, since he personally had no previous experiences other than Karofsky planting one on him in the locker room – yet, imagining his beautiful, eager Sam domming boys was super hot, too. Maybe Sam wasn't as interested in boys as Kurt, but he'd still engaged in some kind of situation with one before. And Kurt knew there were incidents, plural, so there wasn't just that one lone blip on the gaydar. Kurt had wondered about it every time they'd been together.

Distracted for a moment by that inevitable line of thought, Kurt came back to attention and found that Sam was unbuttoning the second button on the short placket of his henley, hand a little shaky, his breath issuing in soft huffs against Kurt's shoulder.

Rather than say anything, Kurt hummed, soft and low and interested. His response made Sam pause for a moment, alert, then slowly go for the third and final button when no protests or guilting or scolding came. It was probably an inch and a half of bare chest Sam was gaining access to, but then, Kurt did remember declaring to Sam that he'd have to earn every inch of his Dom's bare skin. He wondered if Sam remembered that, and if this inch of skin Kurt was allowing him to reveal was at all exciting to Sam.

He got his answer pretty much immediately. Sam's fingers pushed into the little opening, and Kurt heard his sub's breaths go sharper. 

Kurt's own chest rose slowly to take in a deep inhale as Sam's fingertips slid eagerly over his upper pectoral. Sam's fingers were so long they were easily curling around Kurt's shoulder under the cotton of his henley, squeezing at it. The camo-print cuff on his wrist was too thick to just slide under like his fingers did, and caught the open placket, tugging it gently; likewise, the back of his hand was stretching Kurt's suspender over it. Kurt didn't mind. He could feel that this was doing something for Sam, even if he didn't have any kind of main attraction to feature under there. Sam's fingers caressed his collar bone and felt the mild dip underneath it, following that shallow valley until muscles made it disappear. It was a small touch, but it made Kurt feel melty-hot.

"Kurt?" Sam managed softly.

"Hmm?"

"... Thank you?"

"Mm, what for, cutie-pie?"

"Everything." Against Kurt's arm, Sam's heart was pounding hard, and it just seemed to get faster and harder. "But, uh. Especially letting me serve you. ... Service you."

It was just a small huff and a tiny change of wording, but it made a world of difference.

"You waited so patiently for your Dom to let you service like you did, huh," said Kurt teasingly.

Sam nodded.

"When you knew you were going to get to, you were such an excited boy..."

Making a throaty little noise, Sam nodded again, clutching at the unbuttoned V of Kurt's collar. Kurt didn't know if he should ask, especially because he wasn't sure exactly how he'd feel about the answer, but his curiosity got the better of him. Man, if he was a cat, he'd be running low on lives.

"Did you ever do that before you were my sub, Sam? Give anyone a blow job?"

"No," huffed Sam.

Kurt's deep breath was equal parts relief and arousal. It was gratifying to know that this part of Sam belonged to him, in a way – that Sam had only ever had Kurt's cock in his mouth – and also sort of reassuring to think that maybe Sam wasn't as experienced as he was assuming.

"But they wanted me to," Sam added slowly.

"Boys at your boarding school?" Kurt guessed.

"Yeah."

"I bet! I bet you were like catnip to them. I know you are to me. I just can't resist you at all."

Sam's heart felt like it was pounding hard enough to power a small city. He was either incredibly excited or incredibly nervous. His hand in Kurt's felt hot and sweaty.

"You didn't ever give in, though, hm?" Kurt said, not sure whether he was aiming to reassure, or what. He rubbed at Sam's forearm, which was resting gingerly on his chest and still felt silky from that gelled-up massage a couple of hours ago.

Sam shook his head.

"Not even when you dommed that one guy?" Kurt asked.

"Of course not," Sam breathed.

"Hm. And still, you're so good at it," Kurt told him, enjoying the way Sam's chin lifted and his breath seemed to catch.

After a few beats, his sub offered, "I have blow job lips."

"You do?"

"People say."

Oh, did they, now? Sam's mouth was on the large side, and that had gotten a fair number of comments from Puck in particular. Kurt didn't tend to think in that way about them, distracted instead at just how beautifully-shaped they were, but he could see the validity in just about anyone leaping to the conclusion that they might feel good.

"Well, your lips are gorgeous and I do love them," Kurt was willing to confirm, reaching up Sam's arm to nudge at them with an encouraging thumb.

He was pleasantly surprised when Sam caught at his hand and anchored it so he could press his lips against the pad of Kurt's thumb, kissing it for such a long moment that it seemed more like a real kiss instead of just a smooch. It didn't seem playful; his sub's eyelids had dropped, his light lashes on display. Then Sam pressed another right against the bend of his knuckle, and Kurt got it – it was reverential, thankful.

His thumb got kissed so many times that Kurt lost count, and he just let Sam have at the compulsion, sighing softly and stirring in his trousers as Sam's hand carefully pulled at his and the generous-lipped kisses pressed at the tender web between Kurt's thumb and index finger. Warm and earnest, Sam's mouth pressed kisses into his palm and up his index finger to the very tip. Cautious, Sam finally paused there, kissing Kurt's fingertip softly three or four times. 

Kurt couldn't help it. He pushed his finger between Sam's lips, and immediately, Sam responded, warm wet mouth sucking him down to the second knuckle and tugging prickles of sensation into Kurt's nerve endings.

"That's a good boy," Kurt huffed, not afraid to push his finger in deeper. "Suck it."

Sam somehow sagged, his exhale pushing out of him as his temple rubbed into Kurt's shoulder. Kurt got the impression that he'd assuaged Sam of needing to have some dignity, and groaned in approval as Sam's lips caught his middle finger, too.

"Aw, there you go. Is that better?"

Huffing, Sam nodded, hand gripping at Kurt's. The tantalizing clutch of his lips rolled, slid hotly over Kurt's fingers till they were wetting the hilt of his palm. They drew back, pulling at his skin, lighting tingles into existence. Kurt was hazily aware of the air in the room thickening, warming, and of Sam's obvious pleasure. It gave him the feeling of filling his sub up somehow, of giving him something that he desired, and Sam's beautiful mouth anywhere on him was a total score. He could see himself letting Sam do this for hours if he wanted...

"That's good, Sam," Kurt breathed. "Your mouth is so soft."

Sam moaned around his fingers; Kurt could feel the noise right on them. That big careful hand of his clasped excitedly at Kurt's wrist, clutched down his arm, and then dropped right to Kurt's fly and groped at it, searching. Kurt, who was in the midst of remembering the last time Sam had sucked on his fingers and the satisfying, dominating sensation of filling him up in two different holes, wasn't expecting it in the least. He sucked in a startled breath as Sam found his erection and ground his hand across it eagerly.

"Sam," he let out, not even knowing what to say for a moment. Sam had actually touched him like this before, emboldened by knowing he was within the rights the rule had granted him. He could still hear Sam babbling, _You let me have this... You're letting me feel it... Follow the rule... I wanna be your good boy..._

Panting through his nose, Sam arched, burying Kurt's fingers in the warm heat of his mouth and twisting his lips around them gently. Kurt could feel the silky back of his soft palate on his fingertips and grew even harder under the warm rubbing, till there was absolutely no way anybody in Kurt's family could casually peek into Kurt's room and not see his hard-on, if they ever looked past the sight of Sam Evans blowing his fingers. It was Sam's right hand groping at him this time, and it felt to Kurt like it knew what it was doing as well as if Sam had been doing it to himself. Kurt just sighed, waves of heat crashing through him as Sam sucked his fingers like crazy and that hand got increasingly confident, caressing blatantly.

"Hm! Seems like you want something pretty bad," Kurt finally commented.

"Mmf."

"Maybe if you ask nice..."

"Pleah," Sam breathed, with Kurt's fingers still almost entirely in his mouth. 

"Hmm, try again. I wanna hear exactly what you want."

"Pl – please," Sam huffed, letting Kurt's fingers out of his mouth completely wet down. Saliva dribbled over his lower lip and chin from Kurt's fingertips. "Please let me suck your dick again. You can – tie me up if you want? Just – anything you want, just, please... I wanna service your dick. More than anything. Please, Kurt."

"Oh," Kurt sighed, his dick just throbbing in response. With his fingers still warm and spitty and Sam's breath huffing on them, he couldn't even think of saying no, even though the door wasn't even locked. Sorry, potential intruders. "So sweet, honey. That's so sweet. It's okay. You can suck it again. I understand..."

Sam huffed, sounding relieved, and lifted his head from Kurt's shoulder so he could attack Kurt's button and zip.

"That's a good boy," Kurt managed, gaze sliding briefly up to his ceiling – it seemed incongruent to see, even if he was pretty used to jerking off just like this in bed, on his back, because this was just too impossible to be real. But of course Sam wanted to suck him off, given permission to do just about anything. Sam shoved himself down the mattress, pulling his hand out of Kurt's so he could pry into Kurt's boxer-briefs as he hunched on his knees beside him. He wasn't shaking like he was when he was daring to unbutton Kurt's shirt, but Kurt could still feel the clumsy eager desperation that made him feel so... Dommy, so powerful and important and benevolent towards his sub. And he couldn't help but notice that Sam had put himself on his knees, even on the mattress. Half encouraging and half teasing, Kurt asked, "Can you get that cock out? You can use your hands this time, can't you..."

Focused, Sam managed to pry Kurt out, and inhaled sharply.

"You got it," Kurt congratulated him breathily, staring down at his dick in Sam's huge hand. "Look at that, Sam. Look how hard you got your Dom..."

Sam's fingers drew along it in a subtle pump that had Kurt forcing back a moan.

"Thank you," his little sub whispered, his eyelids dropping as he buried his forehead briefly in Kurt's hip. "Thank you."

The noise made its way out even though Kurt was trying to hold it in. He didn't know the exact thing Sam was thanking him for, but his belly sank in a hard tug of arousal anyway, because that profuse gratitude was so submissive and obviously flowed from a deep and honest well. Then Sam's pretty lips slid over his knob and sucked gently all the way down it, sliding up again from the neck to the very very tip, where they slipped right off. He had to open up again to take Kurt's knob back into it, and Kurt felt every little bit of the sweet cling Sam's mouth had on him.

"Jesus please us," Kurt blurted rudely.

Since they'd just celebrated Sam's Personal Savior's Zombie Resurrection together at church, the words rang pretty harsh, but Sam didn't seem to stall at that little bit of blasphemy beyond a clutched breath. Maybe going down on Kurt's fingers had really roused him, or maybe he was just as over-eager as he'd been earlier, because he rocked on his knees and sank into an intent rhythm, right off the bat. He was wetting Kurt down in his hot mouth instead of licking him like last time, hair falling over his forehead in a bleach-blond curtain.

Choking down the loud, undignified way he wanted to respond to the abrupt but heartfelt blow job, Kurt tensed on the mattress, his spine actually curling enough to make his chest rise high. Honestly? Carole was downstairs, and here he was with his ankles casually crossed, letting his sub give him blow job number two for the day? He was hardly even used to Sam touching him anywhere at all. It was just bonkers.

He made himself relax again after an overwhelmed moment. Fixing his gaze down his own torso, he admired Sam's left hand gripping at the suspenders buttoned into the waist of his pants, his right dedicated to steadying Kurt's cock. His pinky stuck out like he was holding a teacup, giving Kurt the impression that Sam was holding him as he would fine china – but it was still so boyish, kinked over at the knuckle, and unawares. Sam's mouth was so abundant that it seemed easy for him to be taking Kurt in his mouth like this, almost quick and sloppy. Maybe he did have blow job lips... maybe he was just made to worship his Dom like this. Made to please with his body and mouth and big hands. He'd begged for this repeatedly.

With a deep sigh, Kurt felt himself swooning. This was his sub's desire and he was just reaping the benefits. Knowing that if nothing else, it made Sam feel servile, felt good on a whole other level. And he wasn't having to push back his own arousal every few seconds this time... this time he wasn't going to blow immediately... this time it was more familiar to him, how Sam's lips held him in this perfect heat and his tongue stroked the back of his dick in broad rubs.

"God," he murmured, voice wavering. "You don't know how awesome that feels, Sam."

His sub let out a huff of breath, excited, and Kurt closed his eyes for a long few moments, belly pulling taut with pleasure and brain losing touch with where they were, anyway, besides the world he and Sam created together. He could hear Sam's lips slipping over his skin wetly and how intense his little exhales seemed to be. Kurt centered himself over and over, but he could feel himself giving in slowly to the rhythm, captive to it. His hand found Sam's hair, fingers sliding through it several comforting times before he got some sense and pushed the hair out of Sam's face, away from his cheek and forehead so he could have an unobstructed view of Sam's cheeks hollowed and his eyelids hanging heavy, not all the way shut.

"What a good boy I have," he drawled. "Aren't you a good boy? Getting to service your master's dick twice in one day?"

After a shiver of shock, Sam whimpered an affirmative-sounding response, and Kurt grinned, letting out another long, deliberate breath.

"I know," he agreed. "So good. Make me so proud. My sweet little sub deserves to suck my cock as much as he wants."

Sam groaned softly, without a hint of shyness, blinking a few times before his eyes simply shut and something about his posture changed. He slowed, the capable and energetic pace he'd dived right into rolling naturally right into something that was truly slavish. It was as if Kurt had found that little behavioral switch in him and given it a nudge, given him permission and comfort in a deeper way. Sam's lips slid down his shaft deep, taking him to where his fingertips were bracing him, and Kurt got another groan that he felt right in his balls.

"That's right," Kurt managed, stomach swooping. "You can have all that in your mouth. You like that, right?"

"Mmh," Sam squeaked responsively, sucking Kurt slow and sweet right up to the tip, where his tongue was free to slide around in a hot squirm, and down again.

"Oh – God, you're so good, it's not even – fair," Kurt let out. "Just like that."

Happily, Sam repeated the move, so fucking deliberate that it was suddenly a whole different blow job and Kurt was panting, feeling the ring of Sam's lips caress him from root to tip in purposeful strokes. His mouth was so silky but so firm, the bow of it easily keeping Kurt's shaft from ever grazing his teeth. And he kept right at it, giving Kurt those hot lengthy sucks capped with eager swirls of tongue, till Kurt whispered to him sharply, "Think 'm gonna come."

Sam's response to that was to back off.

He didn't back off totally, but his lips softened, and he leaned weight onto his elbow and hip, his head tilting and his hand keeping Kurt securely in his mouth as he eased himself onto his side.

Now he was positioned more like the time in the car, like he'd leaned over from the passenger seat to blow Kurt. His hair slipped back into his face with the change of angle, and Kurt couldn't see his eyes anymore, but his neck and shoulders were right there at Kurt's side, ready to be pet. The pause had been enough to make the sweet knot of tension in Kurt's belly loosen a little, and he exhaled hotly. He'd meant to warn Sam as a basic courtesy, not get him to stop or take it easy, but he was still hovering so close he only felt amazing. He could see Sam's spine in the dip of his flushed neck and all those muscles helping him bob in a pace that was tremulously slow and gentle.

His sub wanted to keep going, he realized. He wanted more – he wanted what Kurt had told him he deserved.

"Fuck," Kurt sighed, entranced. "Sam..."

After a minute of those petal-soft sucks, he was close again, aching in Sam's hand and mouth, and Sam seemed to realize it. He backed off even further, the wet pull of his lips sliding off Kurt's dick entirely, his tongue giving the crown little flicks that felt extra-slippery and hot as he panted, winded. It was so wet – because his dick was fucking drooling, thought Kurt, who could barely even see straight anymore. Sam was pushing that heavy wet precome all around his knob... 

It hit Kurt the second he even thought about Sam's tongue doing something like that. It seemed somehow beyond the pale; all that had been beyond Sam sucking him off dutifully. His body clutched, and jizz shot right out of his swollen cock. He felt Sam freeze, and Kurt let out something between a groan and a high-pitched cry, alarmed and turned on because he was shooting off right over Sam's cheek – and coming even harder with that last-second hit of feeling. He shot off again and again, just making it worse, his come landing in Sam's hair and on the back of his neck as Sam's head bowed. Even as it tapered off, every little drop rolled from his slit onto Sam's face.

For what seemed like forever, Kurt couldn't even find words. He slumped, panting, internally trying to claw his way back to reliable mental footing.

"Oh – God – I'm sorry, Sam," he finally managed. "I just – soaked you – I'm so sorry."

Sam grunted. At this point, his cheek was cushioned in submission against Kurt's belly, the curve of his lips right in Kurt's neatly-groomed pubes, and Kurt's dick was twitching against his jaw. Sam was still holding it in gentle fingers, letting it lean along his sloppy-wet jaw.

"It's all over your neck," Kurt muttered. As much as he would have liked to lie there and bask with his sub, he felt a little panicky. He grabbed at the back of Sam's collar and tugged it up to mop at where his load was sticking to Sam's flushed skin. It was strung along locks of Sam's hair. Kurt's come wasn't as thick or downright copious as Sam's always seemed, but it was still obvious, unmistakable, and Kurt wheezed, "Jeez. You are definitely going to need to wash your hair or we're gonna have a Farrelly brothers situation on our hands. Oh my God. Sit up. Shirt off."

Silently, Sam obeyed, pulling his shirt off with a stretch of back and arm muscles. It ruffled his hair. Kurt yanked it from him.

"Come here. Face me."

His sub slowly spun, and Kurt let out another, "Oh my God," because the side of Sam's face was utterly creamed and dripping onto his bare shoulder, now, gravity making the slick jizz rush. The two seconds Kurt took to stare at Sam's round cheek seemed like an hour; Kurt knew he'd never forget the sight of Sam dripping with his load like that, just like he'd never forget shooting off up Sam's spine and seeing his come glisten in the pit of Sam's back. It was on the tip of his ear, too. Quickly, Kurt pushed himself onto his elbow and reached out to clean Sam's face off with his hand tucked into the cotton of Sam's tee, dumbstruck.

Jaw tiredly unhinged, Sam blinked, languid and glassy-eyed, then looked at Kurt blankly.

It only took a few moments to get his cheek relatively cleaned off, Kurt's come soaking and sticking at the cotton instead, and Kurt nipped at his blushing ear with a clean part of the shirt and tried to smile.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. I made you into such a mess! You okay?"

Sam breathed, "Yeah. Thank you, Kurt."

Kurt folded the shirt over to a clean patch and rubbed at the back of Sam's neck, making Sam's eyes fall shut again.

"What do I need to do?" he asked, like his brain was a few steps behind.

"Wash your hair. I can't send you home like this – your parents would never let you come over here again! We should get you right into the shower. We don't want that to dry."

Sam hummed lowly. It sounded as though his voice had slipped from a perch in his throat and sank to the bottom of his stomach.

"I have to advise from personal experience that you use cool water and, uh, lather-rinse-repeat at least once," Kurt said, and sighed. "God. Sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean for you to wind up having to take a cold shower..."

"Nothing new," Sam murmured.

Feeling bad for his sub, who was clearly hard in his jeans, Kurt tucked his cock back into his underwear and zipped himself up again. Then he uncrossed his ankles and sat up to give Sam a kiss on the same cheek he'd just sullied, pining to go full-on fussbudget. He could smell himself all over Sam's skin, pungent. It was like taking a hit, or something; he felt so in love with this boy, his heart squeezed tight in his chest.

"Poor sub," he cooed. "Come on. I'll run the shower for you."

 

*

 

Fifteen minutes later, a damp-haired Sam peeked into Kurt's room, hovering in the doorway until Kurt said, "Come in here!"

Kurt put his phone in his bedside shelf. He'd been occupied the last several minutes by looking at the picture he'd taken while Sam's wrists had been restrained earlier and wondering whether that had been a good idea. It had seemed like an effective punishment at the time, but he hadn't thought it through all the way. Now that he wasn't in the middle of domming the lights out of his sub, he wasn't really sure he'd handled that trivial rule-breaking situation well.

"Did the shower help?" he asked. "Does your hair feel clean?"

Easing himself into the room, Sam nodded, carefully shutting the door behind him again. He was just in his jeans, which luckily hadn't gotten doused, and seemed like he'd inevitably calmed down in the cool shower. And he clearly saw that Kurt had pulled out the shopping bag Quinn had given him and left it in the middle of the floor between them. He slid his hands into his back pockets warily.

"I'll wash your t-shirt and get it back to you this week, but in the meantime, how about you try on a couple of these shirts from Quinn?" Kurt suggested. "You'll need something to wear home."

"Uh. Well. Will you... decide what?"

"Are you sure?" he asked, even though he knew the answer. Sam really seemed not to want to open the bag himself to see what was inside. Kurt thought that Sam had a generally curious nature, so it really spoke volumes as to how uneasy he felt about accepting the gift. He remembered Sam nervously insisting he wasn't a charity case, so it seemed the gift had two strikes against it. As he expected, his sub nodded, so Kurt said, "Okay! I'll pick for you. And if any of these aren't your style, we should go to the mall and exchange them."

The first thing Kurt pulled out was a blue and white seersucker button-down, which seemed very cool and summery. A tiny yellow Ralph Lauren logo was embroidered on its chest. He held it up for Sam.

"How 'bout this? Cute? Not cute?"

"I – um. I really have no idea what clothes are cute," said Sam.

"I'm just asking if you like it. There's another one that looks just like this, but the stripes are red. This kind of shirt is very classic and versatile! It can be worn alone or under a jacket or sweater or with denim or khaki, and seersucker's really easy to take care of as well as wear. You don't even have to iron it. Here, c'mere. Let me put this red one on you."

Kurt was already unfastening the buttons on it, so Sam cooperatively stepped over and let Kurt help him into the shirt. They had to pause again to unbutton the cuffs on the long sleeves so they wouldn't get stuck above Sam's collars, but it was easy to give the sleeves a couple of casual rolls up his arm.

"Luckily for the Titans, red flatters you," Kurt murmured, buttoning Sam up easily. He could smell his own shampoo and conditioner in Sam's hair and didn't mind it at all... although, honestly, he sort of preferred that sharp scent of his own jizz on Sam's skin. He couldn't smell it now. "Give me a spin, why don't you."

Obediently, Sam rotated in an inelegant, uncertain circle.

Kurt had to admire the the whole picture. Sam looked good in pretty much anything, but the ride of the sleeves on his forearms flattered them immensely, showing off his cuffs. The shirt fit him well in the shoulders and chest, but it was his arms that looked amazing in it. As casual as Kurt found it in general, it was on the churchier side in the spectrum of things he'd seen on Sam. It wasn't hard for Kurt to envision Sam at some kind of picnic or beach, all-American, with rolled up khakis and a football under one arm. Damn that Quinn Fabray. Girl did have an eye.

"Does it fit?" Sam asked.

"I'll say," Kurt leered. "It makes your shoulders look so broad."

Sam slid a finger into the collar and pulled at it a bit. "Do you like broad shoulders?"

"Broad shoulders are never bad," Kurt told him reassuringly, which in his mind was an understatement. Sam's body was essentially perfectly proportioned.

"So you like it?"

"Well, I think you'd look good in just about anything. The important thing is that you feel comfortable and like yourself. So how's it feel?"

"Like a shirt," said Sam.

"So it's 'eh'?"

"I guess. I mean, it's fine. It's just a shirt. I feel kinda weird wearing something someone else picked out for me. I mean – if you like it, I'll wear it. I trust your, like... opinion."

"What I hear you saying is that the shirt itself is neither here nor there. You just don't like that Quinn is attached to it," said Kurt.

"Not really," Sam confirmed. "Quinn is a good girl. I just don't want to feel... attached. Like you said. Ugh, but I feel really bad even saying that. She's... she was important to me... and this is a gift."

Trying to phrase things delicately, lest his irritation with Quinn flare up on him, Kurt said, "You know, it's okay, Sam. I get it. You let Quinn have control of your emotions for a long time, even after you were with Santana. Even though you ended things, it's hard to let people go. I understand that it might feel like you're being disobedient if your instinct is to pull away from her. I think it's big of you to want to keep her as a friend. But it's okay to feel another way than hopelessly devoted to her." Looking carefully at Sam's eyes, which were shiny-wet and wide and unblinking, Kurt said, "Sam. It's really okay. It's okay to feel however you feel about Quinn. It's okay if you're totally over it, and it's okay if you're not and still feel hurt. You said it yourself: She was important to you."

"Yeah, but I'm not hers anymore," Sam said quickly.

"Don't I know it," Kurt assured him, cupping his cheek affectionately. He just really loved to nudge the corner of Sam's mouth and feel the resulting smile in his palm.

"And I don't want to be but I still feel – bad. I already said. I don't want to think about her. I just feel bad. I know I shouldn't..."

"Remember what we talked about Sunday? I won't judge you. I'll never judge you. Your feelings are important and valid and meaningful to me. You're my sub, and the fact that you are and that you're you, just the way you are, means a lot to me. I'm here for you. You telling me your honest feelings is the most perfect thing you can do for me as your Dom. Even if they're feelings about that little hussy. Positive or negative. They're a part of you."

Sam nodded hurriedly, lips quirking against Kurt's thumb in a half-smile, then sniffed.

"I really wish you picked out this stuff instead of Quinn."

"Well, that's no problem, sweetie. Let's just exchange it. If you promise not to let me get carried away, we can get you a whole different set of shirts. Courtesy Quinn, but we'll pick out whatever we want."

"Really?"

"Really."

Sam visibly relaxed, his shoulders sinking. He let his head roll back for a second, blinking carefully, then straightened up again. It seemed like tears had been threatening to spill, but he'd moved out of the storm.

"Would you try on just one more thing for me, though?" Kurt asked, squinting and tapping at his own chin with his index finger.

"Of course," Sam said.

"There's a shirt in here that I confess I really like," said Kurt. "Finn has one kind of like it, but this one is much cuter, trust me."

"Cute like... Pinky Wigglenose cute, or...?"

"Hm! Try 'jock at school I wanna cuff to my headboard' cute."

Kurt heard Sam stop breathing for a few seconds, then exhale tensely.

"Ditch the seersucker," Kurt added, fishing through the bag for another bag, which he knew from his snooping had a few assorted polo shirts in it. He knew for sure Sam used to have a couple of polos, and that he might even like and willingly don the ones Quinn had picked out if he didn't associate them with her.

The polo Kurt had liked was a pretty simple white one with slender black stripes and a black collar. The chest had a yellow band over it, like someone had decided to highlight one of the black lines. While it wasn't what Kurt would consider fashionable, it was frankly a tad more styled than anything he'd ever seen Sam in, besides those purple Bieber kicks. But it wasn't so distinctive or unusual that it didn't fit in with Sam's typical wardrobe. It was nothing special; Kurt just liked its clean look.

"Trade ya," said Kurt, as the red seersucker came off Sam's gorgeous arms. Sam took the shirt he held out, and Kurt took the seersucker, unrolling its cuffs again. "Get that on for me."

Sam pulled the polo over his damp hair, and Kurt watched him get his arms through the sleeves and tug it down his waist.

"So are you gonna tie me to your headboard now, or...?" he asked, grinning.

"I'm sorely tempted," Kurt teased him. "That looks great on you. Especially with your blond hair."

"Thanks," Sam said, pleased.

"You'll wear that home for me, won't you? Since I wrecked your t-shirt and I feel bad about it, you should take pity on me."

"'Kay," Sam agreed.

"Let me snip that tag, then," said Kurt cheerily, going for his craft box, which was in his bookcase. All his rhinestones and glue and feathers and fabric swatches were hidden in a box he'd covered with black flocked velvet damask. He lifted the lid and found his scissors easily, and when he turned back, he saw Sam had stepped up to his dresser and had carefully eased the curtain of scarves up so he could see how he looked. He dropped them again when Kurt snagged the dangling brand and price tags (which showed signs of having been marked down several times) and cut them free, plucking the plastic barb out after. "There you go. Personally, I think you look hunky, but if you wanna toss it once you get home or give it away or whatever, I get that, too. Please yourself."

"I look hunky, huh?" Sam echoed, smiling.

"Mm-hm." Kurt batted his eyelashes. "Sorry about your t-shirt, though."

"It's okay. I – I was gonna swallow... I didn't mean to just slack off like that," Sam said, and Kurt's eyelashes fluttered further, this time in surprise. Slacking? Sam considered that slacking? He opened his mouth to assure Sam that not a single aspect of that blow job had been the least bit wanting, but Sam said, "When I felt it hit my face... I – just let it happen. I didn't move or anything. It's really my fault. I didn't know it would get on the back of my neck and everything. I didn't mean to be a Farrelly brothers situation."

"... Oh," Kurt managed.

"Next time I'll definitely swallow," Sam said.

"I see," Kurt said. His ears felt like they were on fire. "Um. Sweetie... trust me, you don't need to swallow to make me happy. I'd hardly be offended or insulted if you'd rather not. Messes happen, and I'm not exactly against them. You might have noticed my, um, bedspread. So you don't have to swallow at all, if you don't want to. You don't even have to blow me in the first place. I mean, I've loved all the blow jobs you've given me! All three of them. Three seems like a crazy number. I kinda can't believe it. But you do know I don't expect you to do that for me, right? Let alone swallow."

There was such a pause that Kurt thought it was obvious Sam had definitely not thought dick service to be optional, but then Sam said, "Yeah. I know you don't expect anything but honesty. I just... was hoping you'd let me do it." He shrugged awkwardly, tugging at his new polo by its hem.

"Swallow?"

"Well – just..." Sam fidgeted, gaze tilting to the left in a nervous fashion.

"You mean service me," Kurt said, getting a nod. "I let you today, didn't I? Twice. Amongst other things you did for me. Right?"

"Yeah."

"And I must say, it was some killer service," Kurt said airily, although he was reminded of exactly what else Sam had done for him earlier, and sat on the edge of his mattress, picking up his phone. "Come here, Sam. Sit next to me."

Sam padded over, his weight dipping the mattress next to Kurt and his fingers hanging onto the edge of it. Kurt still had the picture he'd taken earlier pulled up, and he tilted the phone so Sam could see it – the picture of the chair in his corner where their school stuff was sandwiched together between its metal arms. Sam exhaled quietly as he eyed it.

"Is there a picture of me too?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"No," Kurt replied. "I just snapped this one and let you think it was of you."

"Oh," Sam said, confused. "Yeah. I thought..."

"I told you it was a little punishment. A temporary punishment. See? Epitome of temporary. But I was thinking. It was a bit dishonest of me to play with your expectations like that. It's something I won't do again. I won't take any naughty pictures of you without your consent just because I'm your Dom. You're safe with me. Always. I'm not happy if you don't trust me."

Head heavy, Sam nodded his acknowledgment.

"You look disappointed," Kurt observed.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Sam mumbled.

"You kind of liked it, didn't you?" Kurt asked gently. He was well aware it hadn't put a dent in Sam's wiggly, subtastic state of arousal, at least, but Sam nodded again, just once, looking both sad and ashamed. "Me too. So it wasn't really a good punishment, then, was it?"

Sam shrugged.

"What would you have done if you were in my place? If you had a sub and he'd broken a simple, temporary rule. How would you punish him?" Kurt wondered.

"Spank him or something," said Sam, like it was the obvious answer.

Kurt stared down at his phone's screen. "Yeah, there is that. To be honest, I'm not sure I feel comfortable spanking you. It's just... I think I would enjoy it too much... and I don't want to like however I choose to punish you. Even if, maybe, when I punish you, I might be relishing the fact that I'm your Dom and you're submitting to me – I don't want to actually get off on punishing you. I'm afraid it would make me more likely to punish you when you don't really deserve it and make it easy to get carried away. And I get really carried away with you as is. I'm not above admitting that in the moment, I really enjoyed making you whimper like you did."

"You could smack these cheeks instead of these cheeks," Sam said, gesturing to his face with both index fingers pointed, then his ass.

That got a giggle out of Kurt, who till that point was occupied with being really grave and apologetic.

"How dramatic," he commented. "Maybe I should slap you across the face with a glove."

"Okay, but I might try to duel you," said Sam. "It's just instinct."

"You can certainly try, but give me five seconds and I'll have you begging for mercy."

Startled, Sam inhaled, then let out the breath again sheepishly.

"I see kids at school carrying out punishments sometimes," Kurt said, flushing happily at the response that had gotten him. "It's usually either some kind of manual labor, like locker-cleaning, or some kind of public humiliation – wearing 'HELLO! My name is: Flirted with Figgins' stickers and going from class to class with makeshift gags in their mouth and stuff... I do like the idea of people seeing you be so submissive to me, but. Going from class to class can be hard enough with guys like Karofsky around, who don't exactly respect and fear me as a Dom and who would probably love to jump you for being my sub. And for accidentally breaking such a little rule, I don't know. I should have just given you a warning. That wasn't really punishment-worthy, since you didn't do it on purpose at all. See? When I'm in that Dom mode, I just get carried away. Would you forgive me, Sam? I'm kinda new at this."

"Of course, if you want. But what would you do if you were ever really mad at me?" Sam asked. "Like, say I did something you told me not to do, on purpose. Would you punish me then?"

"Oh. Well, it really depends on the situation. I might punish you, but I'm not sure what I'd do," Kurt admitted. "But I'll be thinking about it. If you have any suggestions, you can tell me."

"I dunno," Sam admitted in return.

"Well, it isn't a pressing issue," Kurt told him. "You're extremely well-behaved, and like I said, I consider it my place to help you if you do ever have trouble. I promise I will provide you with a warning in the future, and I promise not to make you think something that isn't true. I just wanted you to know that I didn't take any nudes of you, sweetie. In fact, I don't have any pictures of you at all."

After a moment of consideration, Sam asked, "Well, do you want one? We could take a pic together or something."

"Really?"

Smiling at the happy lilt in Kurt's voice, Sam spread his hands in complete deference.

Kurt, feeling a little like this was simply too good to actually be his life, accessed the camera on his phone.

"Just, is my hair okay?" Sam asked him. "I don't have that Cameron Diaz thing going on, do I?"

After giving him a little inspection, Kurt arranged Sam's long, mostly air-dry bangs over his forehead with a few light pats, then said, "Looks good to me. In fact, you look particularly photogenic, all scrubbed clean and in your cute new polo. ... Ready?"

He stretched his arm out, holding his phone at a distance so they could both fit in the picture. Sam leaned in.

"On three," Kurt said. "One, two –"

The shutter sounded.

"One more for safety," Kurt said. "On three. One, two –"

Aware of Sam's arm around his back, hand on his waist, and their cheeks brushing lightly, Kurt pressed the button again.

"Let's see," he murmured, feeling extremely pleased. He and Mercedes usually took several pictures together anytime they did anything; his Facebook had a whole folder dedicated to their cam-whoring and face-making and cheek-kissing in various locales. But he'd never cozied up with a boy as such, and as small a thing as it was, it was thrilling – another first for him that he was sharing with his sub. Sam's cheek tilted onto his shoulder as Kurt eagerly pulled up the first shot.

Kurt never smiled with teeth if he could help it, but in the first picture, Sam was grinning particularly brightly, his pretty, perfect teeth visible and his mouth for once not just quirked on one side. He looked too handsome to tolerate, especially compared to Kurt. Rachel had it totally right when she'd referred to him as a Ken doll. Kurt gave Sam an elbow in the side, muttering. "Cutie. Look at you."

The second one featured a Sam that was just as painfully gorgeous as he was in the first, although he and Kurt were much closer together, with Sam's chin nearly on his shoulder. His lips were more crooked, smile more of an afterthought. He almost looked more occupied with getting in close than with actually posing for a picture.

"I like that one," Kurt said, quickly selecting it as Sam's ID picture.

"Will you email them to me? Both of them?" Sam asked.

"Certainly!"

"Thanks."

"Thanks for taking a picture with me," Kurt countered. He bumped his shoulder against Sam's, friendly, and gave into the urge to give Sam a peck on the cheek, since Sam had said it didn't bother him.

"Anytime," Sam said. "You know you could –"

He stopped short.

"I could what?" Kurt asked.

"You could take however many pictures of me you want," Sam said, studying his knees. Kurt watched him flatten his lips together and his teeth tug at his upper lip for a sharp second before letting it go. "Just if you want."

"I'd like that," Kurt told him truthfully.

 

* 

The next day, Sam showed up at school wearing the cute white, black, and yellow polo, looking all kinds of adorable with his hair particularly neatly arranged and pulled over his forehead in long swoops. The clean, new shirt fit his frame extremely well, which made quite a difference; he looked tall and lean and – well, super hunky. The cuffs were the perfect accessory, in Kurt's opinion. His sub was just hands down the hottest boy in the whole school and everyone else could just die of jealousy, as far as he was concerned.

Quinn strolled by the two as they stood at Sam's locker checking over his homework, and upon noticing the shirt Sam was wearing, she smiled and tilted her nose offensively high up in the air, looking extremely pleased with herself. The proud, satisfied expression only seemed to bother Sam for a couple of seconds.

"I forgot to read on my novel for English," he said, when his attentions refocused.

"Oops," said Kurt angelically, knowing full well he'd taken Sam's entire evening. "If you can make it through your class, we can catch you up during study hall."

Sam nodded reluctantly. He was probably thinking the same thing Kurt was – that he'd rather just skip study hall. Miss Holliday wasn't subbing this week, though, so with Mr. Clippinger leading it, their shared study hall was much more quiet and class-like than the social hour it tended to be with lenient teachers.

Kurt got a real start in second period when he saw Rachel. The purplish bags under her eyes and splint on her nose were worse than Finn had prepared him for. She'd stayed home yesterday, and it was now obvious why.

"Jeez, Rachel, are you okay?" he asked.

"My nose is a little swollen," she acknowledged, opening her pink notebook with a prim hand.

"You look like you went a few rounds with a punching bag and lost every single round!"

"Well, that's better than the 'ugly stick' comments I got in first period," she said.

"I'm sure the swelling will go down soon," Kurt said hastily.

"I suggest you get used to seeing me like this," Rachel advised. "Are you sitting with me, or something?"

"Yes," decided Kurt, putting his books down. "Hey... don't worry if those under-eye bruises linger. When you're playing Elphaba, you'll be covered in green face paint anyway."

"That's sort of simultaneously mean and nice of you, Kurt," she said with a small, flattered smile. "Why are you being nice to me? Is it because of my dramatic injury?"

"Well, yes, but – we're friends, too. At least, I think," said Kurt. "I mean, we may be rivals in terms of solos, but we can be friendly rivals. Right?"

"Of course!" said Rachel. "Does this mean you'll un-ban me from your _Project Runway_ blog?"

"Oh my God, yes! I have to talk about it with someone! Sam can do a great Tim Gunn impression, which you know I love, but he has no interest in the actual fashion component."

They were animatedly chatting about Rachel's doctor apparently advising her to repair her deviated septum ("Well, I hate to break it to you, but you do snore, so you might want to do it, if only for the benefit of any future roommates or submissives," Kurt told her) when Mercedes walked in.

"Excuse you!" she said to Kurt. "You're in my seat!"

"You guys, you don't have to fight over who gets to sit next to me..." said Rachel.

"Never mind, keep the seat," said Mercedes, rolling her eyes and walking away.

 

*

 

At lunch, Kurt produced a little tupperware box of wheat crackers, which he'd layered thinly-sliced ham onto, fixed with a small amount of spicy tomato sauce. He got busy shredding a mozzarella stick for Sam, laying thin strips down on top of the ham. It was kind of his version of Lunchables. Sam already had a tin of tuna and a yellow-kissed red apple, which in Kurt's humble opinion was very healthy, but not actually enough lunch for a teenage boy.

"No, Tina, I'm not going to feed him by hand," he announced pre-emptively as Tina came to the table, Mike behind her as usual. Artie had started eating with Brittany and Santana in the courtyard after witnessing him spoon-feeding Sam yogurt, which apparently crossed the line from art to porn with him, or whatever. "I'm just assembling."

"Don't worry about it. I found out why you insist on doting on Sam the way you do," she said, sitting. Mike pulled up his usual seat next to her.

"Really?" Kurt asked archly. Even though his doting far pre-dated his learning of Sam's family's dire straits, he still prickled at the idea of Tina somehow putting two and two together about Sam's meager lunches, since Sam obviously wanted to keep everything about the situation as private as possible. He glanced at Sam, who was gnawing at his apple and looking at Tina with some confusion.

"I saw how Coach Sue barked at you after lunch last week. You weren't even doing anything!" she said. "I'm so used to you fussing over him like a giant toddler at lunch all the time, it didn't really occur to me how discreet you're actually being! You guys never even kiss at school. You don't hug or hold hands, not even in glee. It wasn't that long ago that Karofsky was shoving you into a locker every day, and I wouldn't want that to start happening again, either. So I get it now. You do other things to show Sam how much you care."

Kurt swallowed, a dim heat gathering in his face. All that was actually kind of true... but his relative lack of displays of affection, other than touching Sam's cheek and hair every chance he got, had more to do with the fact that he had deliberately chosen not to pursue a physical relationship with Sam until now. He'd never wanted to make being touchy-feely and handsy seem like an expectation or put Sam on the spot or embarrass him. Sam had fallen in line with unquestioning obedience, and they had actually gotten along pretty swimmingly without anything being about sex. Till collaring him a week ago, Kurt hadn't allowed himself to think of sex as being in the cards. He'd used every other means he could think of to dominate Sam and give him ways to express subservience. But still, he wasn't kissing Sam anywhere but on the cheek and sometimes the neck, and he rarely did that at school – outside of the discretionary, that is. Karofsky was really the least of his concerns when it came to his sub.

"Thanks for noticing," he murmured anyway, somewhere between heartfelt and sarcastic.

"We hold hands sometimes," Sam spoke up, looking at Mike for a split second before turning his stare to his apple, which was ravaged with wide, toothy bite marks.

"It's true, we do," said Kurt lightly.

"Good for you!" said Tina. "It's just not fair you guys can't really act like a couple."

"Well, you're right about my fussing and doting," Kurt said, rather than remind Tina that while he and Sam were in a committed agreement, they weren't exactly a traditional couple who went on dates and stuff. "I do like to feed Sam, whether it's by hand or not. I'm aware other people find it weird and that some people think I'm spoiling him, but I happen to like giving my sub the things I make for him every night. It's fun for me and makes me happy. Do you mind it, Sam?"

Sam shook his head.

"We don't mind it, either," said Mike, easy breezy.

"Yeah. I'm sorry I've given you a hard time about it, Kurt," said Tina. "You're fully within your rights as a Dom to do whatever you like with your sub."

"Yes. I am. But thank you, Tina. And thank you, Mike."

"Feed him by hand and make him lick your fingers clean in front of the whole cafeteria for all we care."

Mike paused. His expression was somewhat surprised and intrigued.

"We hug, too," Sam said, turning to Kurt with his brow creased.

"Mm-hmm," Kurt hummed in a satisfied way, and tried to draw Sam's attentions off the topic. "Here, Sam. Try this. Tell me if you think I should pack the tomato sauce separately next time. Hey, Mercedes!"

Mercedes, who was passing by with her lunch tray, stopped with an expectant look on her face.

"Sorry I took your seat in math earlier," Kurt said. "Come sit with us!"

"Whatever, Kurt," she said blandly. "It's fine. You know what, I have somewhere else to be. See y'all."

"Is she mad at you?" Mike asked Kurt.

"I don't know," he replied, sort of stung at the brush-off. He and Mercedes weren't exactly as inseparable as they used to be these days, after Kurt had found a friend in Blaine and a submissive in Sam. "I hope not."

 

*

 

After lunch, Sam seemed like his brain and body had disconnected from each other. He nearly threw away his text book with his empty tuna tin and apple core, then bumped into the door frame on the way out of the cafeteria and hit a whole group of Cheerios like a bowling ball clipping a set of identical pins.

Kurt stopped him where they usually parted and gave his collars a squeeze, hoping it would pull him to attention.

"Okay?"

"What? Yeah."

"See you after class, sweetie."

"Wait, what class do I have next?"

Sam's geography book was right under his arm, luckily not having gotten covered with milk and Jell-O and pizza grease in the garbage.

"Geography," Kurt told him.

"Oh, right... 'kay. Uh, I –" Sam fished around in his pocket. "I wrote you a note."

He offered Kurt a small, thick square of notebook paper, which had been folded until it literally couldn't fold anymore. Kurt took it. It easily fit into the curl of his fingers, warm from Sam's pocket.

"You don't have to read it," Sam said quickly. "'Kay. So. Um. See you after."

With that, Sam bolted in the wrong direction. After a second, he caught himself, turned around with a sheepish expression, and hustled past Kurt the opposite way, thumbs stuck in the straps of his backpack. Baffled, Kurt stood there, watching Sam disappear into the milling flood of students all heading from lunch to their lockers and various classes.

Sam had never written him a note. He didn't really like writing and was prone to losing concentration and doodling stars and unlikely geometric shapes in the margins of his homework. There was no greater ordeal to him than essays and tests that had essay questions. They barely even texted. And he hadn't asked Sam to write to him. It had to be important, didn't it? Or maybe it was the opposite, and Sam had written him a This Class Is Sooo Boring note with lots of doodles.

Clutching the mysterious wad of paper, Kurt hurried to history so he'd have time to take a peek at this missive before the bell. As if he wouldn't read it, he thought incredulously.

He was excited and slightly anxious as he unfolded the square, and unfolded it, and unfolded it repeatedly in his lap. He could imagine Sam getting restless in his English class and folding the whole thing up. All the creases made his blue ink tracings look trapped in some kind of web, and to Kurt's surprise, the text seemed to cover the whole page, and his own name was written quite large at the top.

> _DEAR KURT,_
> 
> _Thank you for taking me as your sub. I'm so lucky. Everyday I think about how lucky I am you took me. Your the best Dom and best person._

Kurt exhaled sharply, shocked. The words went on.

> _I wear your collars proudly. I'm so lucky you let me service you twice. Thank you for letting me, I know I don't deserve it but I will do anything to deserve it. Please let me. Thank you for cumming (sp?) on me. Thank you Kurt. I'm not too shy to say it in person but sometimes I get distracted around you and cant think. I sub out. Its easier for me to tell you like this, no distractions no sub act just honesty. Plus I don't think you will ask if I liked it anyway. Or being tyed up. The truth is I even liked my punishment, you can do whatever you want to me, its you're right. It was "mixed feelings" but I belong to you. Im your sub, I was shown my place and Im grateful. Im so lucky you showed me how much I am your sub I dont know how I can say it. Hope you understand. You said you like tied up subs. You dont need to worry about my shoulder. Its 100% healed. If you need proof I can call my dr or ask Bieste. I had to be cleared before she let me back on the team. I want to be your sub in every way Kurt. I promise Ill be a good boy for you always, abide by your wishes, try hard to make you proud, most of all always be honest. Please let your sub service you_
> 
> _love  
>  sam_

In Sam's somewhat large handwriting, with his complete lack of paragraphs, randomly selected homophones, cute curling Ys, and forgetfulness about punctuation towards the end, all of that just barely fit on the page. He'd started out with grand, tall letters, but by the end, Sam had signed his name small and underneath the very last line.

Heart racing, Kurt folded it up again in his lap during roll call, not wanting the painfully earnest little pouring out of his sub's soul to be confiscated from him. Rather than tuck it into his bag, away from him, he pushed the thick square under the cuff of his sleeve, where his pulse jackhammered against it.

He had to sit there and think for several minutes, faking some real fascination with the lesson, his mind skipping around like a needle on a warped record. There were so many things Sam had tried to put into writing, and they all warranted attention; he couldn't wait to reread it, slowly and in privacy, and consider every clumsy sentence. His brain was absolute static. And Kurt was shocked that Sam had written all of it in the first place. It was such a dedicated effort, not just to express his gratitude and devotion but to repeatedly try and articulate his submissiveness... and his desires. Even though he hadn't directly asked Kurt to tie him up, Kurt was pretty sure he was trying to indicate that he was willing to be if it was a way he could be submissive. More blatantly, he'd managed to ask at least twice to be allowed to service Kurt's dick. It was practically a love letter in slave shackles.

Thinking about it like that didn't exactly help Kurt's inner fluster.

He preferred to think of himself as a Dom not easily ruffled, and he'd always sort of lead Sam – rather happily, at that – through their conversations, very interested in his mood and feelings about things and able to deal with anything and help Sam deal, too. But Sam was probably right. Kurt had already taken for granted that Sam probably didn't like getting his face covered in jizz, and he was uneasy about how much he had loved seeing Sam struggle, bound, and even how naturally he'd taken to the act of punishing him. He didn't want to make Sam believe bondage was a requirement of his, a component of being an ideal sub; he hadn't exactly missed Sam's attempt to barter permission to suck Kurt's cock by offering to be tied up again, as if that had been the only reason Kurt had let him at all the previous time. But after reading all that, Kurt felt a little bit like a can of shaken-up soda, full of excitement that had no place to go but was just waiting till it could explode out of him.

He joined Sam at their table in study hall with a cheek-splitting smile. Sam was rolling a pen between both thumbs and index fingers, but stopped carefully as Kurt took a seat next to him.

"Hi."

"Hey," responded Sam, sitting up straighter.

"I loved your note," Kurt purred at him.

"Did you read it?"

"Of course I did. It was quite a note to get. When did you write it? During English?"

Conscious of Stoner Brett sitting right behind them looking around the room as if he'd never seen it before in his life, Sam leaned in and whispered.

"Last night and all morning. I didn't get to thank you last night. I know it's long – I just kept thinking of things I wanted to say. I said so much, I didn't know if I was... actually going to give it to you," Sam said with a small sigh and a roll of his eyes, clearly not too proud to have been doubtful, but sticking to the truth. "Then at lunch, Tina said we never act like a couple and you found all these other ways to show me you care. I know how nice it is you make me stuff. I know you like to watch me eat. I always like what you make, but I didn't know you always do it 'cause... you care about me. I just – dunno how to say thank you enough..."

At that, his sub curled onto the table, leaning towards Kurt so much that if the table hadn't been in the way, he might've buried himself in Kurt's lap instead of in his own arms or even gotten right onto the floor to bow.

"You are very welcome, sweetie," Kurt breathed, wrapping his arm around Sam's shoulders and giving him a warm cuddle. He couldn't help but be bemused that Sam had never equated Kurt's urge to feed him with caring; maybe he'd considered it pity, or an expression of discontent with his diet. "Thank you for writing all that down for me. I love it. It's by far the best note I've ever gotten. And I do like to make you special snacks. That's the kind of thing that could keep me happy as your Dom even if you didn't want to... you know. Service me."

"All right, everybody," Mr. Clippenger said boredly, very unawares that Kurt was in the middle of conveying important information to his huddling sub, and on cue, the bell rang. "Study materials out, mouths shut. Take your seat, Mr. Azimio. Let's all make use of this time to get our work done. If you don't have work, occupy yourself silently for the next fifty minutes. Respect the people who are using this time to work."

With a small sigh, Kurt gave Sam's back an encouraging, affectionate rub and reluctantly sat up straight. Maybe he could get a minute or two before the end of the day to be even more affectionate – right then, he didn't want to be too overbearing and tip Sam into subspace like last week, even though he honestly would've l-o-v-e _loved_ to. He got that it wasn't the most appropriate thing to do during study hall, but that didn't really quell the desire. He opened his messenger bag to pull out the history work he hadn't made a single dent in during class.

Sam was leaning right into the space in front of him, but Kurt really wasn't of the mind to urge him to move. Instead, he smoothed the scruff of Sam's hair down and reached back behind his chair, picking up the top of Sam's backpack and peering into the bag for his English novel. Sam's note was still stuck in the cuff of his sleeve, bulging at his wrist. He put the book down patiently and waited for his sub to come around on his own.

After a minute, Sam turned his pink cheek onto his arm and stared up at Kurt with watery eyes. His lower lashes were wet. Kurt gave him a sincere smile and gently nudged a thumb under his sub's eye, nicking away the trail of a tear. Sam blinked slowly. Then he shifted an arm out from under his head and reached for Kurt's hand, snagging it and pulling it into his lap to hold, as he had in church.

 

*

 

"So, I haven't heard from you since Saturday night," said Blaine as they took a seat that afternoon.

The Lima Bean was in a pleasant afternoon lull, as the after-school crowd had thinned and the coffee date crowd wasn't due for another couple of hours. Post-glee was a great time for a grande non-fat mocha, and Blaine was treating him in return for the ticket to the Night of Neglect. Kurt had been sort of preoccupied with other things the past few days, and still was; Blaine obviously knew what was on his mind, too. 

"How's it going with Sam?" he asked. "Last we talked, you were dying to get him alone. So? Have you gotten him pinned down for some quality domming?"

"Pinned..."

"... And?"

"And nothing," said Kurt teasingly. For one thing, they were in the middle of a coffee shop, and for another, he didn't want to share all the things Sam had written in the precious note that was still stuck between his wrist and sleeve. Nor did he want to violate Sam's family's privacy by going into exhaustive detail about Sunday.

"Ah," said Blaine. "Really. That bad?"

"Oh, no! It was, um. Very productive."

"Oh, there he is," declared Blaine. "There's the guy who refuses to watch porn."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Kurt asked, although in truth, he wasn't exactly offended by that statement.

"Last week you were so excited about collaring Sam and that soft room makeover, and now you're being surprisingly coy. So what's up?"

Kurt smiled.

"Nothing," he repeated. "I haven't visited the soft room all week, so I haven't been able to check on its progress."

"No? You haven't taken Sam there?"

"Nope. Not this week. I'll try to peek between classes or something before the week is over. I can tell you're on the edge of your seat for an update on how that light fixture works in the space."

"So no troubles with him zonking out during class?"

Kurt flashed back to study hall, which Sam had spent merely holding his hand and basking in his Dom's presence. He'd been in no shape to catch up on his reading, so Kurt had just enjoyed the PDA (if holding hands under their table counted as PDA) and jotted down answers to his history questions with a smirk lingering on his mouth.

"Not so much I've had to take him aside. Sam continues to amaze me, though. We have this assignment in glee club this week... we're doing Gaga."

"'Born This Way,'" Blaine assumed correctly, since unlike any of the New Directions guys, he was up on his Lady Gaga.

"Of course. So we're doing 'Born This Way,' and we all have to choose something about ourselves that's been difficult for us to accept or that we're self-conscious about and may wish we could change. We're supposed to own it by putting it on the t-shirts we're wearing for the number. Sam actually picked his lips. Can you believe it? You've seen them. They're one of his best features."

"Well, if they're his best feature, why's he ashamed of them?"

"I think he's taken some guff about his mouth in general. It's just unbelievably beautiful to see on a boy, and it's a little big, and since he's a sub... you know how some people speak to subs. Santana definitely didn't help matters by talking about how we should all get plastic surgery – which is a whole other story, by the way. But I don't know. I didn't realize he was self-conscious about them. They're just so gorgeous. Either way, we're going to have to change it to something else. I don't think Mr. Schue is going to let us put 'blow job lips' on a t-shirt."

Blaine laughed. "Probably not. So what's your shirt?"

"I guess 'queer as a three dollar bill' is a little long, so I'll probably just go with 'gay.'"

"You don't wish you could change that, do you?" Blaine wondered.

After a thoughtful sip at his piping hot coffee, Kurt licked his lips and said, "No. Not anymore."

"Good," said Blaine. "Just think, if we were straight, we wouldn't be here, having coffee together."

They chatted for a while. The Warblers were having short rehearsals only twice a week for the sake of not falling completely out of sync, but their only upcoming scheduled performance was at Dalton's graduation. Blaine seemed put out by it, at one point stating, "God, I'd kill to do 'Born This Way' and go to Nationals. My voice is just going to waste. I should just transfer to McKinley and join the New Directions."

"Oh, you're more than welcome," said Kurt. "But you'll never pry the lead away from Rachel. Speaking of whom..."

Kurt filled Blaine in on Nosegate and Rachel's extremely dubious desire to make her nose look like Quinn Fabray's, on prom posters going up all around the school, and on someone drawing mustaches and man boobs on Finn and Quinn's (which was both hysterical and irritating, since he'd helped hang most of them). He wound up bitching about his efforts to make nice with Quinn, which only made him repeatedly come back to the topic of Sam. It was so hard not to yammer on about him. Kurt honestly did feel reticent to go into detail about yesterday's session, especially since he felt unsure about the decisions he'd made in the heat of the moment. The heady, subby note made it impossible for him to think about what he was like when he was in the thick of dominating Sam from an objective standpoint. He had gotten carried away to the point of fucking Sam when he had no prior plans to do such a thing, tying Sam up without even discussing it with him first, and playing around with Sam's expectation of punishment. He was usually so together. But Blaine did always offer his brutally honest two cents. Maybe that was what Kurt needed.

"Hey, do you really think I'm a romantic Dom?" Kurt found himself asking his friend, thumb restlessly stroking the black paper cap on his coffee cup.

"I very much do," said Blaine.

"Then do I seem like a massive hypocrite if I confess that I think about doing things with Sam that seem kind of... unromantic?"

Blaine's eyes twinkled mischievously. "I'm sorry, but you're obliged to give me additional information before I can answer that."

"All right, brass tacks," relented Kurt, squaring himself and leaning onto the table to close a little of the distance between them and attempt to keep their nearest neighbors from overhearing. "I've been thinking about punishing Sam. Spanking him. And restraining him. And doing all kinds of things that would probably make him uncomfortable and might even get him in trouble. So am I no better than Quinn, or what? I'm not, am I. I'm as irresponsible as she is. I knew it."

Blaine, who was mirroring him cooperatively by sitting forward, blinked as Kurt threw himself back in his seat. Admitting all that out loud had actually made him feel awful.

"Hang on, hang on. Uh. I, uh. Listen. Here is where you differ from Quinn, in my biased opinion. You really care about Sam and about, um, being there for him emotionally. You enjoy connecting with him and investing a lot of time in his well-being. You didn't become his Dom to use him for popularity, security detail, service, or sex, and you told me you would help him find a new Domme if he couldn't be fulfilled by being with you. I think that is very romantic. And I don't think it makes you unromantic to be interested in, um." He took a second to swallow. "Disciplining your sub. Physically. You want to, right?"

"I'm... not sure. I mean. Yes," Kurt made himself admit. "But also no. I don't want him to feel like he's a bad sub. He's asked me several times, when things are a little intense for him, if I'm going to punish him. It's always kinda concerned me. He's never done anything wrong. He just feels bad about himself a lot and assumes I must feel the same about him as he does. I've told him that he'll get a warning and he'll know when he's being punished. He won't have to guess – which is one of those things that makes me so angry at his exes. You have to be really specific with Sam! You can't leave him to wonder. He'll start tearing himself apart. It makes me – ugh. I don't want to be anything like those girls." Kurt ripped the lid off his coffee and gave the liquid an unnecessary stir, just to burn off the energy of his resentment. "So I've been crystal clear about circumstances that might warrant a punishment, and I've told him I don't expect him to read my mind and that I'll help him behave. But still, I can't help but feel like he actually wants it in some weird way, even though he seems to want to avoid it, too. I don't know what to do."

"Um, that's..." Blaine shook his head, surprised, "...confusing. And not just for you, I'm sure. But it sounds like negative reinforcement has always been a part of his tenure as a sub. From what you've told me, it sounds like a lot of the attention he got from his ex-Dommes was negative. I do remember Santana smacking him around in Rachel's basement..."

"You do? You sure you didn't miss it totally while you were busy singing duets with your soul mate, Rachel Berry?"

"I do. I remember it because I was sort of, um, intrigued she was putting on such a public display. Sam appeared to be having a good time, too, if I remember correctly. We all were, though. Thinking back on it, Santana wasn't slapping Sam punitively, was she?"

"I don't think so. I think she was just drunk and enjoying batting him around like a ball of yarn."

"Ah. And Sam enjoyed that?"

"I thought so at the time," Kurt verified. "But I'm honestly not sure."

"Here's the thing about discipline," Blaine said. His fingers touched the table in a purposeful way, like he was actually infusing the surface with wisdom. "Just like sex, it seems very physical, and it is, but it's also very mental. Remove the idea of punishment from something like a spanking, and what do you have? It's just attention from you. From his Dom. It's very extreme attention. It's not just authoritative, it's possessive. It's stimulation of his senses. If not his physical senses, certainly his mental and emotional senses. If you were to spank him or flog him or use something like a spreader bar on him, or merely instruct him to do something he wouldn't normally do – not as a punishment, but as an assertion of your dominance over him – I can see how he'd be drawn to it."

Kurt's brain was yanking up vivid mental pictures of Sam's shoulders squirming and the McQueen scarf sliding and tugging gently in the D-rings on his cuffs. Actually, Sam wiggling on his bed with his hips pumping in futile arousal, hands obediently flattened to the bedspread, all subbed out from nothing more than some Q&A came to mind.

"Or," proposed Blaine seriously, "look at something else that has happened to him, like Quinn not letting him –" He tapped the table again, then upended his hand, allowing the obvious insinuation to go by with a lift of his brows. "He didn't ask Quinn to release him because he felt neglected in that sense. It was basically because she cheated on him. Right?"

"Right," Kurt said slowly.

"I'm just saying, involuntary celibacy sounds rather extreme and torturous to you and I, and perhaps even like a punishment or an abuse, but to him..."

"It was how he behaved. It's how he was 'good' and felt like he was doing what was wanted of him. He certainly got trained into associating having a libido with being displeasing."

"So it stands to reason that Sam actually got some submissive fulfillment out of giving that up to her. I know you don't want to be like 'those girls,' and treat Sam badly or in any way you'd consider neglectful. I know you want him to feel comfortable with expressing himself, verbally and physically, and enjoy himself with you. That's admirable. But maybe in Sam's mind, you punishing him is something a little different than it is in your mind. Maybe he'd like to be disciplined just because it makes him feel very dominated. He can want that level of submission and still be afraid of doing something to displease you, just like you can be interested in disciplining him yet not want him feel like he's failed you or angered you."

"So you're a sub whisperer," Kurt commented after a silent minute of consideration.

Blaine smiled, a somewhat wavering expression, then said, "Well. I don't know. This actually might be a good time to tell you something."

"What?"

Save his dark lashes batting a couple of times as he stared at his coffee, Blaine was still. It took him several seconds to get going.

"There comes a moment, Kurt, where you say to yourself..."

Kurt waited, feeling somewhat tense.

"'Oh. I thought I knew who I am, but actually, I'm not that sure.' I've been having these, um, feelings."

He paused again, and Kurt blinked. Hadn't they already had this conversation after Rachel's party? Hadn't he already told Blaine he wasn't bisexual? Oh my God, was Blaine about to tell him that Rachel really was his soul mate? A sudden typhoon of bizarre nervous energy was looming right over them and Kurt knew he couldn't get out of the way and that it was about to come crashing down right on him. It made the beat that went by downright eerie.

When Kurt didn't say anything, Blaine finished carefully, "Submissive ones. Towards you."

"Ohh!" Kurt found himself saying dismissively, as if that was no big deal and he wasn't sort of cold-sweating all of a sudden. "Um. That's – okay. Normal, I mean. I think everybody wonders if they could switch eventually, just like everyone eventually asks themselves, 'Am I gay?' or in my case, 'Am I straight? Because I love Nicole Kidman so much, I'd marry her,' and then you construct this elaborate fantasy wherein you're married to Nicole and keeping Taylor Lautner as a houseboy. It doesn't mean anything. Sorta like when you kissed Rachel while you were drunk," he added pointedly, still not entirely convinced he was in the clear of Blaine transferring to McKinley and replacing Finn as the lead male. "Being curious didn't make you straight."

After a beat of silence, Blaine agreed, "Yeah. Um. That's true. I'm not drunk all the time lately, though."

"Well, that's good to hear," Kurt managed.

"For a couple weeks, I thought I was just jealous you found yourself this beautiful sub because I wanted one. I mean, I was. I am. I'd love to have a sub like Sam. But after a lot of thought, I'm pretty sure I'd still be feeling like I do without Sam in the picture at all."

"Oh," repeated Kurt.

They sat there together for a minute, not saying anything, and it was the first time Kurt had ever felt uncomfortable around Blaine. It was actually sort of distressing there for several beats.

"If it means anything, when we first met, I... I thought it'd be a dream come true if you were a sub," Kurt finally said, wanting to do something to ease the tension. "You're the only out and proud gay guy I know, and I was so lonely, and look at you in your Dalton blazer. You're pretty dreamy, and I thought it was flirty of you to send me those little 'courage' texts. After you came to McKinley to help me confront Karofsky and bought me lunch, though, I had a feeling you weren't a sub. You may be a year younger than me, but your presence is very commanding. And my sixth sense is usually pretty accurate. Are you sure you're not just – lonely and wishing someone would care about you like I care about Sam?"

"Uh-hum," Blaine coughed, looking away awkwardly. "This is going about as well as it did when I tried to ask out Jeremiah."

"No! It's not that bad. I mean. Of course you could be a switch," Kurt said.

"That's very magnanimous of you, but once again, you sound like you've made up your mind about who I am," said Blaine, before taking a fortifying and irritated sup of his coffee.

"I'm just surprised, Blaine!"

"Well. It doesn't matter, anyway. Forget it."

Kurt drew in an awkward breath.

"I'm sorry. I've been asking too much of you, talking non-stop about Sam and my discretionary plans and – all that just now. Punishment and reinforcement and all this Dom shop talk. It's been an absolutely insane few weeks, and I've poured out my thoughts about Sam to you multiple times as I've waded these unfamiliar waters. It's probably been too much to be hearing about how I want to spank my sub.

"But you're the only person I've felt like I can confide in and commiserate with, without that fear of homophobia or being told to tone it down. You've kind of become my confidant. Maybe subjecting you all my thoughts has just gotten you confused. I'm... so flattered if I've made you... question yourself. Honestly. I just find it hard to believe! You've always got the room in the palm of your hand. All your fellow Warblers just kowtow to you and you act modest, but you totally love it. I know Dalton boys are all about rules and structure and hierarchy, but do you even know how to follow an order? I mean, you've never shown the slightest inkling of subbiness around me."

"Just because I've been questioning my responses to some of our conversations, it doesn't mean I'm out to act on my responses," said Blaine, an edge of impatient laughter creeping up on him. "You already have a sub, and you're fully invested in him. And, yes. I do have an array of Dominant tendencies. I'm not saying I'm actually a sub! And even if I was, I'm certainly not the subbiest sub that ever did sub. I think that honor belongs to your sub, frankly!"

"Well, he's adorably subby, I agree! But he's not on the floor licking my boots every day," Kurt said, somewhat defensively.

"He would if you wanted him to be. He would do anything for you!"

At that, a light went on in Kurt's head. "Ah-ha. There's the subbiness."

Blaine's lashes fluttered a bit again, and he lifted one shoulder casually. "Well. Yes, in fact. I think?"

"Ah. All right, then," said Kurt, fiddling with the edge of a paper napkin.

"I've just made you uncomfortable," Blaine noted, incongruously calm with his coffee cup at his lips. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," said Kurt quickly. "I'm not uncomfortable. It's okay. You should know by now how much I respect honesty. I've been dishonest with myself in the past, and with my friends, and my dad. And I'm never going back to being dishonest about who I am and how I feel. What's any relationship without communication and trust? What's our friendship if we don't know we're in each other's corners? I'm not uncomfortable if you're a switch, or questioning, or... bisexual, or anything."

"Oh! Okay. Well, that's certainly a change of tune," Blaine commented archly, although Kurt could tell he was relieved. "Very big of you, Kurt. I suppose it's been difficult on you, having a sub who's bi when you don't personally believe in bisexuality."

Kurt sighed. "If you want to know the truth, yes, it's been kind of hard to think my submissive doesn't like me the same way I like him and would like things I can't give him, like boobs! Honestly, I'm still not sure Sam is bi. I mean, I don't know how he identifies. What exactly he's attracted to is a murky mystery to me. But on that note, I've thought several times that he could easily be a switch. I can see him being a very sweet Dom."

With a pained squinch of his lips, Blaine smiled politely.

"But this isn't about Sam," Kurt hurried on. "You are who you are. It doesn't change our friendship. I'm just used to talking to you a certain way... as a fellow Dom. Should I tone it down? I should probably tone it down."

"Well, regardless of whether it's even possible for you to tone it down, I'm still the exact same person you've been talking to the past six months," said Blaine. "I'm not less of a Dom now than I was ten minutes ago just because I told you that I find you to be very, um... effective."

"Right," said Kurt, although he honestly had trouble thinking about it like that.

"Just like Sam is no less of a sub if he did decide he might want to try switching someday," said Blaine.

"Right."

"Speaking as a Dom," continued Blaine, very grandly, "I can assure you it's normal to be interested in the art of discipline. It comes naturally and you shouldn't be ashamed of wanting to paddle Sam. You think it puts you in the same box as Quinn, but it doesn't. Disciplining Sam wouldn't make you anything like her as a Dom. If I were you, I'd turn Sam over my knee ASAP and see how he takes it."

"Oh?" Kurt asked, amused at the tone. "And how about this newfound inner sub of yours? How would you take being turned over my knee?"

Blaine smiled stoutly and shook his head. "Kurt..."

"Don't you 'Kurt' me! I just told you things I'd never tell anyone else. The least you could do is indulge me."

"Fine. If you spanked me, I probably think I'd died and gone to sub heaven."

"Oh my lord."

"You made me tell you!"

"Okay. Now that I see the subbiness, I don't know how I missed it," Kurt lamented.

 

*

 

One drama after another flared up at McKinley the next week.

It was just as well, because Kurt needed the distraction.

Some part of him felt responsible for Blaine's apparent confusion, as if he was in control of it in some way. Which, of course, he wasn't. It was Blaine's deal. He knew Blaine would figure it out himself – and of course he'd be a friendly ear and support Blaine no matter what conclusion he came to. But still, he felt a little strange. It felt as if Blaine had confessed feelings for him in admitting he'd felt submissive in response to him. It might have been natural, normally, but Kurt had certainly never caused anyone to question themselves before. It wasn't that Blaine was crushing on him, obviously. He'd just had an innate response to all the ideas they'd been discussing. But it left Kurt very aware of everything he said to Blaine, and attentive to his responses in a way he hadn't been before, just because he knew Blaine might be having submissive responses. Now he couldn't help looking at them to see if they seemed Dommy or subby or wondering if he was trying to act casual. Their texts felt stilted and a little awkward, no matter how they both tried to downplay and smooth it over and be as chatty as always.

The week had slipped by, and Kurt monitored and considered Sam with care, yet he had a lot to think about, like spreader bars. Why did Blaine have to go and mention them? He spent far too long looking at them online, trying to decide whether that was a wise purchase. Probably not. But it was his birthday in a few weeks. He peeked around at under-the-bed restraint systems and harnesses and riding crops and had to be sure to jerk off before Sam called him so he wouldn't be tempted to dominate Sam right into a corner while the poor guy was at work.

Sam worked for much of Saturday and had church Sunday, followed by more work. It was kind of a bummer he didn't get near the amount of time with Sam as a lot of Doms got with their subs, but Kurt was aware how important it was for him to take the work if he could get it. Just like Sam, he didn't utter a single complaint. Instead he claimed Sam's Saturday morning, and they met at the park for a couple of hours, both sleepy.

Kurt had spent his Friday night preparing a truly epic picnic basket. Cheesy, yes. Totally. And probably the opposite of the bondage contraptions he was scoping lately. A picnic in the park was just one of those things he'd always dreamed of putting together, and the fact that it wasn't time for lunch didn't stop him. He made a mish-mash of Sam-friendly creations, not sure whether he'd be in the mood for breakfast food or lunch food.

Sam had seemed bewildered at the basket at first, then became enthusiastic when Kurt instructed him to carry an old quilt he'd packed and pick out any place he wanted to spread it. He'd found a cool, shady spot, undisturbed except for the occasional jogger, and beamed at Kurt's comments about what a perfect place it was. He sat by attentively and allowed Kurt to feed him some experimental tabouleh. He tried a little bit of everything, all from his Dom's hand, before becoming more interested in stretching out over the quilt, lazy and probably more tired than he was letting on. He curled up and put his head in Kurt's lap, and it became clear that Kurt had way over-packed the basket, but he didn't care. The half hour Kurt spent petting Sam, the dewy breeze ruffling their hair, was entirely worth the evening of preparation, and the sweet hit of Sam being so subby coupled with his multiple re-reads of Sam's thankful note gave Kurt a buzz that lasted all weekend. If only he'd known what was ahead.

Drama bomb number one went off when Lauren Zizes decided to run for prom queen, with the full support of Puck and a number of vibrant purple posters that made Quinn's look practically invisible. It set the school abuzz, and predictably, Quinn was extremely pissed.

Atmospheric conditions in the choir room were already just about right for a tornado to form at any time, but things got steadily crazier when Rachel presented the glee club with a composite of the new nose she was considering... and it was literally Quinn's, Photoshopped right onto her face. It got worse reviews than Christina Aguilera's _Bionic_ album.

"I can't believe she's actually considering this," said Kurt after glee, truly saddened. He threw his picture away on the way out the door, and Sam did the same. Most of the glee club had, so there was just a pile of Quinn-nosed Rachels in the trash can.

"Maybe you should talk to her," Sam suggested.

"Maybe I should," Kurt agreed. "Rachel doesn't need this surgery. Her nose is distinctive, yes, but it doesn't keep her from being a pretty girl, does it?"

"Is, uh... that a real question you want me to answer, or...?"

"Oh! I'm not trying to prompt you to say something you don't agree with or trap you into confessing you have the hots for Rachel. I just think, although she looks like she gets dressed in the dark, she's obviously beautiful the way she is."

"I guess she's kinda hot in some weird way," Sam said.

"Ah-ha! So you think Rachel's hot, huh?"

"I – well – I mean she's pretty. I thought this wasn't a trap!"

"I'm just teasing you," Kurt assured him, leading his sub out to the parking lot. "It's cool. I know you like girls, Sam."

"Okay," said Sam, a little easier. "Yeah, she's got a nice body under those sweaters, but I don't have the hots for her."

"I know," he repeated, amused. "Being attracted to her and thinking she's attractive are two different things, trust me! I'm gay as the day is long and I can still see that if someone took those knee socks away from her and maybe gave her a little cat eye she'd be a knock-out."

"I think anybody could be improved with cat eyes. They glow in the dark," said Sam, sending Kurt into a fountain of laughter.

Drama bomb number two went off in the crater left by number one, blasting it deeper. Santana joined the race for prom queen, and she wasn't alone. She was holding hands with Karofsky, taking him into consideration publicly as her latest sub.

Kurt saw this unfortunate turn for exactly what it was: a political alliance. But that didn't mean it wasn't sad and kind of disgusting. Sam seemed deeply offended, and was quick to assure Kurt he didn't have the hots for Santana, either, but that there was no way she was going to let Karofsky grope her if she hadn't let Sam, so he didn't get it. Kurt was the only one besides Blaine who knew that Santana was as much Karofsky's beard as he was hers. But whatever the reasons for Santana's power play, it presented more competition to Quinn, and between almost every class, Kurt spotted either Santana defacing Quinn's posters with a Sharpie, Quinn replacing marked-on posters with an unbecoming scowl, or one of the two pulling down Zizes' posters.

The deadliest bomb was when someone put up a poster featuring an old, extremely unflattering picture of Quinn. School photos were always the worst, but wow. This one set the bar. She was nearly unrecognizable in it. Glasses, braces, frizzy hair, double chin. At lunch Kurt found Sam pulling down a few that had been plastered up by the door to the cafeteria, despite the fact that they'd attracted quite a crowd and a lot of people didn't even know who it was in the picture, and Quinn had gone home "sick" already.

"Dude, you dated that," someone sniggered.

The look Sam shot over his shoulder was so menacing it made kids back up from him like a ripple effect.

Wordlessly, he ripped down every last one, leaving torn corners still taped to the wall, and stuffed them into a recycling bin. Then he pushed his way through the small throng watching him, shoulder first, and came straight to Kurt, guilt flickering somewhere in his otherwise stoic expression. Kurt knew Sam was experiencing another wave of those mixed feelings he'd described.

"That was noble of you," Kurt told him, never one to shy away from praising his sub. "I'm sure Quinn will really appreciate it."

"Jacob Ben Israel already got this hands on one," Sam muttered.

"Ew," Kurt said. He didn't even want to get started imagining what J.B.I. was going to do with it. He snagged Sam's elbow so they could go claim their usual seats. "Did you know Quinn was a natural brunette?"

Lips pressing together, Sam shook his head. "Guess I didn't know Quinn very well."

"Maybe you should talk to her," Kurt said, aware he was echoing Sam's advice to him.

"She won't wanna hear from me."

Kurt didn't pursue the suggestion any further than that, but it only took Sam a couple of minutes of disinterest in his salad to come around.

"I'm kinda worried. Would it be cool with you if I go call Quinn?"

"Totally," Kurt assured him, and got a quick and totally unexpected kiss on the cheek before Sam was hopping out of his seat, walking off to find someplace quiet with his little off-brand phone in his hand. Kurt saw he was dialing Quinn's number from memory. He hadn't put her in his contacts, but there were still ties his sub couldn't cut.

 

*

 

The Barbra-vention was basically Puck's idea, surprisingly, although he hadn't named Babs in particular when he spouted off to Kurt about how Jew noses were just as kosher as anyone else's noses. He'd just come to Kurt because Finn had punked out on him. Quinn did not want her sub getting any more involved with Rachel drama than he had already. The two of them held a brief conference in the boys' room.

"Leave everything to me," Kurt said, holding up his hand. "I know exactly who to invoke to make Rachel pay attention. I'll touch bases with the rest of the glee club and mall security. You just deliver Rachel at the right time."

"Great," said Puck, relieved. "Mall security won't give me permission to do squat, trust me. I'm on their Most Wanted list. But if there's one thing I can do, it's get convince chicks to get onto my bike."

"Somehow, I picture Zizes on the bike and you in the sidecar," Kurt kidded.

"Man, careful with that sword of truth," commented Puck. "Between you and me, Hummel, this switching stuff is harder than it looks. I don't know how you do it."

"I don't. I'm not a switch."

"Yeah, guess playing army with Sam keeps you pretty busy." Puck gave a worldly sniff.

"So you're a switch for Lauren?" Kurt asked with some reluctant interest.

"She doesn't give me much of a choice," said Puck. "If I wanna tap that, I gotta pay my dues. Humiliate myself. Climb on that cross. Play that game. I don't dig on it, but she ain't gonna do it for me. Man, something 'bout her just gets to me, you know? Usually I'm all about thoroughly debasing dudes' moms, teachers, probies – all those chicks who take one look at me and think they're better than me. But Zizes... I can't even explain it! It's not rational!"

"Hey, if it gets you off, I say go for it," Kurt said with a shrug.

"I've never respected you more than I do right now," said Puck bluntly. "I'm gonna leave before this gets confusing for me in my fragile state. Text me the deets, dude."

Once Kurt told Sam about the mob, he decided on his own to take the evening off work so he could come be a part of it.

"Well, that's perfect! While we're at the mall, how about we go by Macy's and exchange those clothes?" Kurt proposed.

"Really?"

"Yeah! We'll already be there. It won't take long. We'll look around a bit and see if there's anything you like. If not, no big deal. You can use the money for something else."

"Cool," said Sam happily.

Despite how thrown together it was, the Barbra Streisand flash mob went off as planned, and Rachel seemed incredibly touched at the gesture even though the it had involved so much wack-ass dancing, and she hugged everyone wholeheartedly, even Lauren Zizes. Puck looked pretty jealous.

Afterwards, the crowd watching the mob dispersed slowly, and the glee kids went their own way. Brittany spirited Rachel away to Claire's, Puck rolled off with Artie and Zizes to get pretzels, and Kurt treated Mike and Tina to some Orange Julius for all their hard work in choreographing and marshaling the effort. He got one, too, and shared it with Sam, who didn't want one of his own but took obedient baby sips from the straw whenever Kurt offered it.

The four of them, who ate lunch together every day at school, made for a surprisingly pleasant group outside of the confines of the McKinley cafeteria.

Sam and Mike were friends, but both tended to be on the quiet side. Still, Mike was friendly and had a lot of qualities Kurt thought might make a good impression on his sub. It was good for Sam to see how calm and confident Mike was in his submission, not to mention how effusive Tina was as a Domme. Sure, Mike wasn't exactly getting hand-fed by Tina, but he still made being submissive just seem as effortless and cool as he made traveling kick ball changes seem.

"That hat's sweet, but whenever I see you out of the corner of my eye, I automatically start to salute you," Mike told Kurt factually.

"I assume you mean because of my stars and stripes and not my general aura," said Kurt, crossing his legs at the knee.

"Could be that," Mike said innocently, glancing for Tina's response.

"I'll allow it," said Tina, unruffled.

Without Mr. Schue to hold them back, Mike and Tina apparently felt free to make out for lengthy periods of time in front of Kurt and Sam, who just shrugged at each other and exchanged awkward smiles. Since Tina and Mike had stopped giving him any kind of side-eye at lunch, Kurt wasn't inclined to put the kibosh on his friends' frenching on the bench of the fountain. Sam seemed content to share Kurt's drink and hold his hand and try to tell him a myriad of painful jokes that sounded like they were straight from some book called _1001 Super Dumb Jokes_ while Tina felt up Mike's abs.

"Those were in my Laffy Taffy," Sam told him with a grin.

He didn't appear self-conscious about holding hands with a boy out in public, away from the feeling of safety he obviously had in his church and with his parents. Maybe Sam really legitimately didn't care that some people stared at them, but it definitely helped Kurt to know he was part of a group, chilling with people who accepted him and his sub for who they were, separately and together. Maybe if he and Sam were the kind of couple who made out, they could do so in front of Mike and Tina and it wouldn't be a big deal, and –

Kurt tried not to hope for that kind of thing.

After saying later to Tina and Mike, who wanted to stop by a boutique to look at prom dresses, Kurt took Sam by the hand to Macy's.

They exchanged the two seersucker shirts, three variously striped polos, two hoodies that were lighter and thinner than the dark green one Sam was wearing at that moment, and two pairs of jeans. Altogether, the clothes made the bag quite heavy. It would have doubled Sam's wardrobe to keep it all, but Sam wasn't reluctant to say goodbye to any of it. He kept looking at Kurt with a funny light in his eyes as the Macy's clerk rang up a substantial amount (more than Sam's parents had dropped on Breadstix, even though many of the items had been on sale). Quinn had done some impressive shopping.

Kurt tried to hand Sam the money, but Sam asked, "If you don't mind, would you maybe hang on to it? I like knowing you have it."

"Sure, sweetie," said Kurt, rather tickled. He slid the bills into his pocket, then slid his arm into Sam's affectionately. "What should we look at? Shirts?"

"Whatever's good," said Sam. "Lead the way."

It very quickly became apparent that Sam was not a shopper. At first, Kurt just walked at his side on the white-tiled pathways between sections, waiting for something to catch his eye, but Sam seemed oblivious to the concept that he might want to duck into the racks and go through them to look for things he liked. Maybe he just needed to get the ball rolling; he asked Sam what kind of shirts he needed.

"Like... t-shirts? Or ones that button?" Sam asked, uncertain.

"Whatever you like."

"Well, what do you think?" Sam asked him.

"T-shirts it is," said Kurt pleasantly. He slipped into personal shopper mode, which was a mode that suited him anyway.

He lead Sam to some affectedly casual tees printed with distressed logos and patterns in a variety of colors and necks. Many were truly terrible and had dumb cocky phrases printed on them, or stuff like crosses and skulls – and not in an awesome McQueen way – but some were pretty cute, with little pockets or stripes. Anything would've looked good on Sam. Kurt pulled out a few, but couldn't really get a committed response about much of anything; Sam just shrugged and nodded agreeably, and it dawned on Kurt that Sam probably would have just nodded agreeably even if Kurt pulled out a clown costume.

He tried to ask some more questions, like about what kind of shirts Sam had at the beginning of the school year and whether he liked them. With some persistence, he managed to wheedle out of Sam that his favorite color was blue, which wasn't super helpful given that Sam wore bluejeans every day, but was still kind of cute.

"Y'know, you can get t-shirts at Goodwill for like a buck or two," Sam finally said.

"Yeah! I love me some Goodwill and thrift shops. Not to mention eBay, which is like a thrift store on a global scale. I find some of my best stuff second-hand," said Kurt. "But you know, there's also something to be said for having new clothes that have never been worn by anybody but you before. They're just nice and soft and clean and all yours..."

"I do love clean clothes," said Sam, without a trace of irony or sarcasm.

"I know you do. They make you feel good, hm?" asked Kurt, holding up a lavender t-shirt to Sam with some kind of faded print on one side before hanging it up again with a shake of his head.

"It sounds dumb, but." Sam glanced at a man who passed by their section carrying his toddler on his shoulders, and one side of his mouth perked automatically at the sight. "You don't think about what a crazy luxury it is to have a washer and dryer until you don't anymore, and you're at the laundromat at eight A.M., sitting there for two or three hours waiting on your laundry, and you don't wanna leave, 'cause if you do, people will steal your clothes." Sam took a small breath and darted an apologetic look at Kurt. "I mean, not that I'm ungrateful. I'm happy we can even do laundry."

"It's not dumb. Who doesn't love clean sheets on their bed and the smell of fresh laundry? You're right, though. People take modern suburban ease for granted. I know I certainly do. In fact, I'm disgustingly picky about the detergents and fabric softeners I use and the way my shirts are hung. Never folded. Not even t-shirts. And if I didn't have my ironing station set up the way I wanted, I would cut someone. Someone would just have to get cut," Kurt said, making Sam smile incredulously. "But really, you've really sacrificed a lot and work hard. You deserve to have some new things that you like. It doesn't matter what it is. T-shirts, jeans, some of those plaid button-downs, or maybe things you can wear to church... socks... whatever! Don't worry about how much it costs. Let's just get you something you like, or at the very least, something you might need. It would make me happy."

"Okay," Sam agreed slowly. "To be honest, this isn't really my element... my mom usually picks my clothes."

"Ah," Kurt chuckled. So Sam was a typical teenage boy, then. "Well, that's why I'm here to help. These t-shirts don't really scream 'you' to me."

"Really? Not even that one that was like, purple, with M.C. Escher birds spray-painted on it?"

"Oh, did you like that one?" asked Kurt, surprised.

"Not really. I'm just kidding with you."

His sub looked wary yet hopeful about how the attempt was coming off, eyes round, and Kurt huffed, reaching up to cup Sam's cheeks and give them a playful pinch.

"Funny boy," he said affectionately.

"You didn't think my Laffy Taffy jokes were funny."

"They weren't. You are funny."

"Look, dude. That's just my face, I can't really help it," Sam said, deadpan. Kurt giggled pleasurably.

"Your funny, sweet little face," he murmured, smiling, thumbs tracing across Sam's high cheekbones; he was thinking of Sam staring up at him from the table in study hall, with this squidgy flushed cheek of his against the table and the shine of a spilled tear under his eye. Fond instinct made him lean in and kiss Sam's lips gently.

The second what he was doing occurred to him, he caught himself swiftly, ending the kiss before it could become anything more than a peck. He leaned back, hands still clutching Sam's face, and looked at him with intent eyes, wondering if that had been unwelcome and awkward. They weren't really Tina and Mike. He watched Sam's lashes flick dazedly as he blinked, eyes widening but heavy-lidded, like he was just waking up or something.

"Was that weird?" Kurt asked carefully.

Sam just blinked, unfocused for a few seconds, then seemed to realize Kurt had asked him something and breathed, "No?"

By the look on his face and the curious tilt of the soft utterance, it might have been a little weird – or at least extremely unexpected. Kurt just gave him a smile and another firm cheek-pinch.

"Cutie. Let's get you some plain t-shirts. Every guy can always use a few of those."

"Yes," Sam said after a pause, as if he was running all that through a translator in his head.

"Yes, huh? You like saying 'yes' to me?" Kurt asked, cuddling his precious face a bit more before letting him go again. "Come with me, honey. There were a bunch of plain tees in the active wear section."

Sam followed as Kurt lead them out of the doucheville tee racks, reaching out for Kurt's hand and holding onto it like a child.

The active wear section, although full of shiny running shirts with Nike symbols and stuff, proved to be a wise decision. There was a clearance rack of basics, and without consultation, Kurt lifted out a bunch of white and heathered gray tees, all with different collars and a couple without sleeves. They had each been marked down and down and down again, but were so plain, it was hardly a wonder they were just hanging out on the racks. Kurt figured that between phys. ed, workouts, school, and possibly losing clothes at the laundromat or to slushie stains, Sam could use each and every one of them. To his surprise, Sam reached out and touched the sleeve on a gray and light blue raglan tee questioningly.

"Is this good?"

Just happy that Sam had made an effort, Kurt gave him a resounding, "Yes! Definitely! Do you wanna get it? You can!"

That encouragement earned him Sam looking at things he suggested with a little more interest. With not too much prodding, the two of them picked out an exceptionally soft green hoodie. It was so soft it made Sam hold a sleeve up to his cheek for a second, which Kurt found heartbreakingly cute. They found black and blue ones for ten bucks each, too, and then Sam picked himself out a red henley from the section right next to them. It was plain, and clearly something in his comfort zone.

"I have, like, a million shirts now," Sam said with his mouth quirked crooked. It was more like seven or eight, but his arm did look full.

"Good," said Kurt. "You need shirts that don't say 'trouty mouth.'"

"You not like my nickname?" Sam asked, obviously joking.

"I cannot believe Santana actually kept your number in her contacts under a mean nickname," Kurt said. He was trying not to fume about it. After all, he'd taken Sam from Santana after only a week, so it's not like he'd endured months of blatant taunts like that, but still. To think Sam was ashamed of his beautiful mouth, and people like Santana were why!

"What do you keep me as? In your phone?"

"'Sam,' of course!" said Kurt. "But I can change it to 'cutie-pie' or 'angel face' if you want. Just let me know."

"See, you call me nicknames, too," said Sam.

"Do you think they're the same as calling you 'trouty mouth,' though?" Kurt wondered, worried.

"No," Sam said. "I was just saying. You call me lots of things. And you can call me whatever you want. I'd probably like it if you did it."

Kurt hummed in approval.

"Uhh," said Sam, blushing for reasons unknown. "Anyway. Do you want to check out?"

"We still have plenty of money left," Kurt said. He'd been keeping a good mental tally, but boy, things were cheap when they weren't designer. "Do you need anything else? Something for church? Underwear?"

He thumbed to the right, pointing out how they were right across an aisle from a modest underwear section. Sam followed the cue, gazing over at the cool neutral shelves packed full of sets of underwear in varied plastic packaging and boxes. There was a "fun undies" wall where there were boxers with the Superman logo and shamrocks on them and the like. There were pajama sets and robes nearby, too. Kurt did love him a good robe. He watched Sam roll his lips under his teeth and bite down on them, resulting in his mouth becoming a perfectly flat line that made him look stumped.

"Ah. Your mom buys your underwear, too, huh," Kurt guessed wryly.

Sam's eyes slid back to him. His flattened mouth quirked at one corner in silent acknowledgment.

"Are you a boxers or briefs kind of guy?"

"I dunno."

"I've seen you in both," Kurt reminded him. "What about boxer briefs? Best of both worlds. What's comfiest to you?"

Sam silently shifted on his feet, eyes on Kurt one second and on the floor the next.

"Aw, hey," Kurt said, reaching over to give Sam's back a comforting rub. "Why so shy all of a sudden?"

After an awkward pause, Sam managed, "What do you like?"

"Like, to wear? Or maybe... to check out on a hot guy?" Kurt asked playfully.

He must have hit the nail on the head, because Sam looked right at him with that intently alert, mysterious expression he'd worn while Kurt had exchanged the clothes Quinn had picked out for him. He gave Sam a smile that he meant to be reassuring, but it felt rather deviant, Kurt was so delighted.

"Like in the pictures you gave me," Sam murmured, staring at him.

Kurt tucked his arm around his sub's waist and snuggled his cheek briefly against his shoulder, hiding a stupid lovesick smile.

Unlike the Laffy Taffy jokes, he hadn't heard anything about the USB drive after giving it to Sam that first week. Given Sam had sold his laptop to help his family pay for basic necessities, that was one of those little things that suddenly made sense, but up till learning about that, he'd assumed Sam was probably just overwhelmed by the surfeit of sights and sounds. He seemed to be overwhelmed by many things to the point of tears, and Kurt hadn't known that when he'd given him the drive of music and pictures. Not that the images Kurt had given him were pornographic – except for maybe the ones that featured men bound up with ropes and cords so intricately they looked like they were wearing some kind of haute couture – but they were still unwittingly intense in their subject matter. All were rather artsy shots where a lot of thought had gone into the setting, the lighting, the posing, so shadows gripped straining muscles and fell across the submissives' faces, hiding them as if behind a mask.

"Mm-hm," he hummed, stroking the dip between Sam's shoulder blades with warmth and gentleness. He tried to keep his voice as light as possible. "What did you think about those? Did you like them?"

It took Sam a moment of uncertain wavering before he dipped his chin, nodding nearly imperceptibly. Kurt felt himself flushing through with a nervous, happy heat. Usually, when he saved a picture of an underwear model, it was more about the abs or the shape of the guy wearing them, and he didn't feel guilty for looking at it, because it was just an advertisement. It was just a fashion shot. It was meant to be commercially appealing. But he couldn't assume Sam responded the exact same way he did.

So he simply said, "Me too."

Sam was quiet for a long moment. "I don't remember seeing any pictures of guys in boxers."

"No, I suppose not," Kurt admitted airily. He gathered Sam's elbow and pulled him along towards the underwear section.

"So... tighter stuff...?"

"Hmm. You're figuring me out!" he accused with a grin.

His sub shook his head as if bewildered. "I wanna know what you like."

"In the sense of what kind of loin cloth I would generously allow houseboy Taylor Lautner to cover up with on formal occasions?" Kurt asked.

"No! I mean. Yes. If. If that's what you like, then..."

"Then... you would want to wear that for me, hm?"

"Yes," Sam said apprehensively.

"Honey, that's so sweet," Kurt told him, and left it at that while he considered the request. It was sort of like when Sam had asked Kurt if he wanted him to dress differently. Sam had asked him to help him choose things that he, Kurt, liked, and Kurt had assured him he didn't need Sam to change his style. He said decisively, "Well, I like it when you feel like you're just being yourself with me, so anything you like to wear is something I like you to wear. What's important to me is just that you wear your cuffs. It makes me very happy to see them on you every day."

"Thanks," said Sam with an uneasy half-smile. "I just... I was curious 'cause... I do want to please you, Kurt."

"You know what pleases me the most, though," Kurt said, and Sam nodded. Neither of them needed to say it out loud.

"Okay, then – I like jock straps," Sam sighed, as if he was admitting he liked something embarrassing.

"Jock straps? To wear?"

"Yeah. But I don't ever wear 'em normally."

"Oh, so... like, you just wear them for football?"

"Yeah."

"I bet you look hot in a jock strap," said Kurt, and enjoyed the way Sam's gaze jerked up from the floor again.

"You like 'em?"

Thanks to jock straps, Kurt had certainly gotten a side-eyeful of bare butts during his short stint on the football team. Depending on the owner of the butt, it could be a blessing or a curse. When he'd been on the team, they'd been mandatory, but many guys wore them over their boxers and as far as Kurt knew, Coach Tanaka hadn't done jock checks. With some guilt, he remembered being really, really curious if Finn wore one, but – his futile longing and domming efforts were pretty awkward to think of now. In total, he sort of associated them with humid stench of sweat and guys the size of refrigerators who would probably love to give him multiple black eyes if they thought he'd seen their fridgey behinds.

But he did have to admit, the way they framed glutes and drew the eye was pretty hot. And dirty, in a way. Their straps practically showed off what they were wrapped around and begged all who could see to look. Their sole job was to be all over sweaty junk, which was gross and arousing at the same time. They were part of the whole jock mystique. Jocks were just everything he wasn't, and were fascinating in their simplicity and masculinity. Kurt hadn't even worn a strap when he'd been on the team, even though he was supposed to. He was just the kicker; he didn't really see the need to wear a cup. They remained a sweaty boy thing.

"Yeah," he responded with a smile, watching Sam carefully.

"I wore them at boarding school all the time," Sam said. He could hear the eager perk in Sam's words and followed up with interest.

"Did you really? Did you play football there, too?"

"No, we didn't have a team. We had lacrosse, baseball, and cross-country. And tennis, but I didn't play that."

"But you did play all the other ones? Wow."

"Straps were kinda mandatory for contact sports, so everybody on teams wore 'em all the time."

"All the time? Like, on the field?"

"Yeah. Playing. In the locker room. To class. Just normally."

"Well... I'd love to see you in something like that," Kurt said, watching Sam swell in response.

"I could – y'know, wear one for you."

"Really? Would you do that for me?" Kurt asked, flirty.

"Yeah, of course – I – I have a couple in my gym bag, I can –"

"That's great. And maybe you should pick out a new one, too," Kurt suggested, watching as Sam hugged the collection of shirts and hoodies they'd picked out to his chest, round-eyed with excitement. It was the most darling thing he'd seen all day, even more than Sam's attempts at Mike's choreography, the way he'd chicken-danced with Santana, the way he'd taken the world's tiniest sips of Orange Julius from Kurt's straw, and the way he'd felt the sleeve of the soft hoodie with his cheek. "One you can wear anytime you like."

Sam looked as if that didn't quite compute. "Anytime?"

"Uh-huh. Not just for sports. Whenever you like."

"Whenever I like?" Sam repeated.

"Mm-hm! And between the two of us, you're clearly the expert on them, so I'm depending on you to help me pick out the best one for you," said Kurt keenly, steering his sub into the racks.

After a few moments of thought, blinking at the selection in front of them – arranged by fit rather than brand – Sam reached out. He just touched the edges of a few boxes, seeming to consider each one, and Kurt happily leaned his chin on Sam's shoulder and glanced up at his handsome profile. He could see how dialed in Sam was all of a sudden. It was way past the semi-interest in t-shirts and hoodies. Something in him had shifted into total attention, like he was a sub with a mission.

"I guess this one," Sam said after he'd looked at pretty much every box, tapping on a box top. The picture on the front was quite modest, barely hinting at the straps at the edge of the hip of the catalogue model who was wearing it. It was white cotton with a gray waistband, which bore the name of the brand – one Kurt didn't recognize – embroidered in black letters, and it was so sporty and adorable and, uh, skimpy, Kurt couldn't even. He just couldn't. "None of these have cup pockets."

"That's okay, though, isn't it? You don't need to wear a cup to class."

Sam nodded slowly. "There's three in the box, though."

"Good! Plenty to spare. Let's get them," Kurt encouraged.

Even though he seemed pretty excited, Sam still let a hesitant beat go by before reaching for a box in his size.

"Thanks," he muttered, cheeks ruddy.

"Aw. Of course, cutie," said Kurt, who hadn't done a thing and wasn't even paying for them. Thanks should have gone to Quinn. The mere thought made him frown. Was Sam going to be literally dressed head to toe courtesy that girl? Nope. This was one thing Quinn was not essentially putting on his sub's body. He dismissed the frown toute de suite. "What else?"

"I have so much stuff here," said Sam. "Honestly, it seems like too much stuff."

"You don't even want to look at jeans or anything?"

"My mom buys my jeans. She's really good at it."

Kurt chuckled at the statement. "Oh! Okay. I think you're all set, then. Shall we check out now? Or do you want to snag some more undies?"

"I'm... I'm all snagged up."

"Stop! You're too cute," Kurt complained merrily.

At the register, Kurt requested two separate purchases, aware of Sam watching him with some confusion as Kurt sectioned out Quinn's money to pay for all of the clothes, leaving the box of jock straps conspicuously sitting on the counter. The checker folded the items and put them in a bag exactly like the one Quinn's purchases had been placed in.

"Would you like a separate bag for this?" she asked solicitously, ringing up the box.

"Yes, please," said Kurt, intending for this purchase to be unrelated to Quinn's in every way possible.

Sam remained silent while Kurt took out his slender leather card case and handed the checker his bank card, but Kurt noticed him leaning over his shoulder to peek at the driver's license behind its clear plastic ID window. He offered the case directly to Sam, who took it and examined Kurt's terrible picture, bringing it close to his face.

Kurt had still had so much baby fat when he'd turned sixteen; he was so pale, his face was almost entirely washed out; his eyes looked piercing, manic, staring out from this white, round face; and it sort of looked like he was wearing lipstick even though he absolutely was not. He'd been in this phase of pairing neon t-shirts over clashing patterned button-downs, too, which in retrospect he didn't even understand.

"Terrifying, isn't it," he said dryly, so Sam wouldn't have to wince all by himself.

"Your middle name is Elizabeth?" Sam asked.

"I was born to be a queen, no?"

Sam handed the card holder back with his mouth in a thoughtful curve, then accepted the larger bag when Kurt handed it to him. Kurt took the smaller plastic bag with the underwear.

"I'd call this a success," he said, easing his free hand into Sam's.

"I, uh, can't believe you bought me underwear," Sam said sheepishly. "You could've used that last twenty from Quinn's stuff!"

"Quinn does not have the right to buy you unmentionables, even unknowingly," said Kurt. "That right is mine! And your mom's, I guess. Hey, are you hungry? I know you probably don't want to eat anything at the food court, but we could use this twenty to get some dinner somewhere. Or you could keep it and use it for something else. It's your money!"

"I can take you out to dinner," said Sam.

"Yeah?" Kurt asked happily.

"I mean, I took the night off. I don't have to be anywhere."

"If you talk like that, I'm just going to want to skip dinner and take you home."

"We could do that..."

"Yeah, we actually could. But everyone's home tonight, and technically I'm not supposed to be inappropriate with you in my dad's house... which is a rule I'm completely willing to break in half and toss over my shoulder, by the way, just... probably not with my dad at home. I really don't want him to have another heart attack."

"What do you want to do with me that's inappropriate?" asked Sam with a grin.

"I have a hard time doing anything appropriate with you."

 

*

 

They wound up at Breadstix, getting $5.99 soup and salad, and it was strangely perfect. Even though it was the same place Kurt had been countless other times with his family, Sam's family, Mercedes and Tina (and one shameful time he just pitied himself so much that he had two slices of cheesecake in a booth all by himself then slid outta the joint with a massive pair of Jackie O. shades on), it felt different to be with just Sam. Somewhere along the way, the evening had sort of begun to feel like a date – not that Kurt had ever really been on a date. It was beautiful springy weather outside, not too warm but not too cool, the evening sky a velvet amethyst.

When the check came, Kurt quickly handed the leftover twenty to Sam, who had been taking out his wallet with clear intent. After a second, he accepted it and used it to pay for the meal with a small sigh, even though he was smiling. The waitress took the bill and their empty plates.

"Thanks for dinner," said Kurt, popping a complementary peppermint into his mouth.

"I wish I could do more," Sam replied, fidgeting with his wallet nervously. "You deserve more."

"Please! I had the best time today! We got you some cute hoodies and stuff."

"Yeah, but... you should let me take you out for real, on my own dime," said Sam.

"I'd be more than happy to do that," Kurt said, coyly sipping his water.

Their waitress smiled at their happy awkwardness as she swept by and laid down their change, which Sam just left sitting on the table.

"Hey, can I look at your driver's license?" Kurt asked him, since Sam still had his wallet out. "I mean, you saw mine."

Smile spreading, Sam handed the billfold to Kurt, who admired the simple, boyish feel of it in his hands. Kurt tended towards using a card carrier to avoid ruining any of his trousers or his silhouette with back pocket wallet-bulge. Sam's wallet wasn't too thick, though. It was tan, the color not unlike the buttery tan leather of his cuffs, but it was waxed canvas and had a black lightning bolt stamped on the front. Inside there were a few slots for cards, but the only card was a library card. There were a couple of worn-looking ticket stubs poking out of one of the slots, and they were both for _Avatar_. His license peeked through its clear covering, bearing the word _Tennessee_ ("The Volunteer State"). It was beige and not rather pink like Ohio's, and it had a little red flag on it. In the picture –

"Oh my goodness, look at your long hair!"

"Yeah," Sam laughed.

"It's gorgeous!"

It really was; it looked wavy, sun-streaked and thick, and it wasn't too long, just wonderfully natural, and a little longer than Sam's current hair, which was shaggy and getting to be on the longish side already. The color of his natural hair was a dirty blond, and Sam was very tan and healthy and happy-looking.

"That was a couple months before I got it cut and, ah, poured a bunch of lemon juice on it."

"Sam," Kurt chuckled fondly, unable to imagine why Sam had thought he needed to change his hair so much. He could hardly tear his eyes away from the photo. Sam had that charming grin on his face. His messy signature had been digitally printed on the bottom. His birth date was large and bright red. Sam was born in May, too. Kurt studied it for a beat. "Uhh, am I reading this right? It says your birthday is in less than a week."

Sam nodded.

"Oh my gosh! I had no idea!" Kurt said, trying not to convey how actually startled he was. After all, to his knowledge Sam didn't know his birthday, either... it just wasn't information that had been interesting enough to swap in light of everything else that had been happening... but his wasn't mere days away. Sam hadn't said a peep. Knowing Sam, he probably would've kept it to himself unless Kurt had directly asked and just let his sweet seventeen pass everyone by. "It's so soon. What would you like?"

"Nothing," Sam said, ruefully. "I just got a bunch of clothes."

"Ah, so that's why Quinn splashed out! It wasn't just guilt! It was an occasion!"

"I guess so."

"Well, you're not getting nothing from me," Kurt informed him.

"Please don't, Kurt..."

"Sorry! This is non-negotiable."

Sam's mouth squinched to one side, his gaze falling in the same direction. It was a worried expression; Kurt didn't know whether he was worried about being cause for fuss or if he had the warped idea that birthday gifts were tantamount to pity.

"Don't worry, I won't force-feed you cake!" he teased, returning Sam's wallet to him. "I know exactly what to do for a boy like you."

"What?"

"You're going to have to wait till your birthday to find out," chirped Kurt.

This didn't alleviate any of the worry. Sam seemed unsettled as they left, but waited until they were shut up in Kurt's car and fastening their seatbelts to say, "I just really don't want stuff. It's weird to get stuff when you don't have a place to put it... I don't have my own room or anything. All I want is to be with you. Is that – okay?"

"Of course!" Kurt reached from the gear stick between them and patted Sam's knee. "I'd love to spend some time with you on your birthday, sweetie."

"I wanna –" Sam began. He had to pause to find the words. "I just wanna be with you and be your sub."

"For your birthday?"

Sam nodded.

"I wanna be with you, Kurt, please," he repeated. With the little plea, the request took on a deeper shade. "I wanna be your sub. Be good. I know if your family's home we shouldn't mess around. I get that. I'll be good. But can I still be in your room with you?"

"Is that really what you'd like?" Kurt asked. He was rather touched.

Sam piled his fists anxiously in his lap and leaned against the head rest of his seat, gazing at Kurt with his cheek hanging close to his shoulder and his cuffs overlapping. "Yeah. If it's okay."

"It's more than okay. I'd love to have you over. What would you want to do if we could do anything? Like, anything. If money was no object."

"...Spaceship," said Sam.

Kurt laughed. "You'd buy one? Or go to space?"

"Go to space."

"Oh, okay. I'll just play the part of Liv Tyler in this scenario."

Sam whuffled. "Can I make animal crackers walk around on your abs?"

"Oh, that's sweet, how you think I have abs," Kurt lamented, throwing the car into reverse. "My dad will be so thrilled to hear that we came close to talking about a Bruce Willis movie. Shall we get you home, sweetie?"

"Can we – is there somewhere we can go?" Sam asked. "My curfew isn't till nine-thirty."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere. With you. ... Somewhere alone?"

"Say what you want, Sam," Kurt commanded softly, intently aware of Sam's submissive body language and the way he was circling with his words.

"To go somewhere with you – so I can suck you off," Sam exhaled, with some effort.

Kurt shot him a sharp but considering look. God, it was really tempting. Sam's eyes were pinned to him and clearly saw only him. It suddenly occurred to him that Sam might have been thinking of this since Kurt had teased about taking him home.

"I haven't gotten to since last week. You haven't taken me to the nurse or anything," he said. "I know I shouldn't be asking – but please. Please let me. It's been a week!"

"Where should I take you to let you service me, sub?" Kurt demanded, rather imperiously.

"Anywhere. I'll do it anywhere!"

"Name places."

"McKinley parking lot. The park. ... A bathroom somewhere. The truck stop by the motel..."

Sam was already out of suggestions, but Kurt was well and truly shocked by each of them. A parking lot anywhere seemed good enough for Kenickie and Rizzo, but a public bathroom had gotten George Michael arrested, and a truck stop just sounded filthy and desperate. The worst thing was that Sam's breathy begging had gotten him chubbed, and each subsequent suggestion only got him harder.

"Sorry," mumbled Sam. "I don't know anywhere else."

"I do," Kurt said. He was already pulling out into traffic. "We're going back to the mall."

 

*

 

The mall wasn't far from Breadstix, which was one of the reasons they'd defaulted to Breadstix for dinner, so they were pulling back into the parking lot in no time. Unable to keep from noting a couple of station wagons that were printed with the word "security," Kurt pulled into the covered parking, following yellow arrows painted on the concrete that took them around to the second floor. It was not very well lit, and it was not exactly empty, either, but Kurt chose the farthest corner from the elevator and parked there with his veins thrumming heavily.

"Well?" he asked his sub, turning off the car so his headlights wouldn't attract anyone. "How's this for you? The parking lot of the place where we spent the afternoon dancing around with our friends? Still wanna go down on me?"

Sam was leaning against his seat like he was dizzy or about to nod off to sleep, his limbs heavy. Kurt watched his hand clutch and squeeze at the crotch of his jeans. His legs were so long and his knees were splayed wide, his ankles in their high tops awkwardly crossed in the foot well.

"Please, Kurt," he mumbled.

"Yeah? Is that what you want?"

"If you'll let me. Please."

Kurt sighed and stretched, grasping at the back of his headrest. "That would make you a happy boy, wouldn't it?"

"Mm!"

"I'm going to let you," he informed Sam, "but you have to stop if I tell you to."

"I'll do anything you say. Please, Kurt."

"Mm-hm. You can have it if you can get it."

Sam jerked in his seat, trying to lean over. He quickly realized his seatbelt was in the way and undid it in a fluster, his eyes trained on Kurt's belt. He popped the button on it, parting the belt; it caught on Kurt's arm, but he just let it, determined to keep his hands off Sam – as if that would make him look any less like his eager sub was getting into his bright red skinny jeans.

"You're not gonna let anything get on my clothes, are you?" Kurt asked sternly.

"No!" Sam fumbled with Kurt's zip, panting. "I'll swallow. I promise. I promise."

"What if I come on your pretty face while you're licking my knob, hm?"

"You can come on me anywhere – come on me, not your clothes. Wipe it off on me."

"God, Sam," Kurt groaned, gutted at the rather proactive suggestion. Sam's hand was fighting its way into his zip, and he hunched his hips up out of his seat so Sam's fingers could fumble and pull his dick out of his boxer briefs. Kurt trained his eyes on the elevator, hoping it wouldn't open and deposit the owners of the Range Rover parked a couple of spaces away. He really couldn't believe himself, and how with Sam he kept finding himself doing things like this. With a huff of triumph, Sam gave his stiff prize a couple of jacks, but practically dove into his lap, his mouth hot and ready.

There was an intense beat of déjà vu as Kurt's back flattened to his seat – he was briefly right back in his driveway, shocked by the newness of the situation and the fact that his sub's head was in his lap and his broad shoulders right there, butting up against him in the crammed space. It wasn't as easy as it had been when Kurt had let Sam do it in bed or as delirious as when he'd bound Sam's wrists, but the sudden sensation made him suck in air and a groan catch uncharacteristically loudly in his throat.

"Sam," he uttered, squeezing the soft headrest. Sam moaned back with Kurt's cock buried in his hot mouth.

All at once, Kurt was just dropping any semblance of keeping himself scraped together. He was just a little beyond it. Sam sounded like the most fulfilled sub on earth, and Kurt knew he wanted this and had been counting the days, maybe waiting for an opportunity to ask, and that this was the ultimate in his mind.

"That's a good boy," he sighed, his nerves on fire. He'd only laid it on this thick a couple of times, but he went for broke right then, because it felt good to him, too, praising Sam so profusely. "God, what a good boy. Suck it for me, sweetie."

In his lap, Sam let out a muffled squeak, responsively picking out a deliberate rhythm and rolling his lips up to the neck and down to the zip of Kurt's jeans in dips and swoops. He was clearly determined to keep Kurt's cock in his mouth this time, and after figuring out that he could do so, he shoved his hand down and gripped at the seam between his thighs. For a second Kurt thought it was punitive, prohibitive. But Sam's shoulder rolled slightly and Kurt realized he was rubbing at himself through the thick layers of denim and underwear.

"Ah – yeah, is that good?" he breathed, dizzily throwing a look towards the elevator – which was open. He tensed wildly, but kept his voice calm. "Stop, Sam. Stay down."

Sam, who felt him go on edge, held himself still and panted noisily in his lap, nose pressed into Kurt's jeans, mouth utterly full of cock.

The middle-aged couple that had stepped out of the elevator were already walking away, though. Kurt could only see the backs of their heads and some truly horrendous mom jeans not even Carole would wear. He waited several seconds, listening to Sam's labored breaths, until they were climbing into their Oldsmobile.

"Good, Sam," he breathed. "Good boy. That was perfect. You okay? Do you wanna suck me off some more?"

Sam nodded, which actually moved Kurt's cock in his mouth and felt good all on its own. After a few beats, Sam carefully eased his way up Kurt's cock and swallowed with some effort before he fell back into a rhythm, moaning low. The noise traveled right through Kurt's belly like a spike. He didn't ease again until the Oldsmobile couple had pulled out of their space and turned the corner, heading down to street level and taking their headlights with them. They left Kurt in the dark, to be serviced by his sub in safe silence. His dick pulsed rigidly against Sam's tongue, adrenaline tickling across his skin in a shiver that left his nipples peaking under his shirt and salute-worthy red, white, and blue sweater vest. Sam's shoulder heaved, and Kurt could tell he was struggling to keep up his rhythm and rub at himself at the same time. God, he loved it when Sam was struggling.

"I'm gonna let you have my load soon," Kurt told him conversationally. "You think you can take it, Sam? All in your mouth?"

His sub gave him a grunt.

"You were so obedient, stopping when I told you to. Do you wanna keep being an obedient boy for me? Hmm?"

A pleading squeak.

"Yeah? Service me just like I tell you?"

Sam grappled for Kurt's knee, winding up with his fingers wrapped firmly around the side of the steering wheel. Kurt got it instantly. He was showing him the collar on his wrist; he couldn't give a better answer with his head still desperately bobbing than to present himself in submission.

"I knew it," Kurt moaned. "Oh. I'm gonna shoot off right in your pretty mouth. And you're gonna take it all. Every drop. But you're not gonna swallow it, Sam. Do you hear me? You're not gonna swallow it till I give you – permission – uh. Sam!"

Sam had managed to slide his lips up far enough to give the crown of Kurt's cock hot, clumsy swirls of tongue without letting it slide all the way out of his mouth.

"Fuck, you're so good," Kurt choked. Sam was totally doing that on purpose. Instinct made him drop his hand and steady his cock between his thumb and first two fingers, bracing it for Sam and helping to stroke his load right out against Sam's tongue, where it slopped around wetly. Kurt managed to whisper in harsh jerking breaths, "There it is for you – Sam. Ah! Don't swallow! Don't swallow yet, sweetie."

Sam groaned softly, waiting, still; he was just letting Kurt empty himself in his mouth.

"That's a good sub. Don't swallow," Kurt repeated breathlessly. "Sit up."

Grunting with effort, Sam slurped right off him with the wettest noise Kurt had ever heard, pushing on the steering wheel to try and do what Kurt was telling him to do with a heavy body. His red mouth was pinched together, and his eyes were tightly shut. Kurt's ears were still fucking pounding with the throb of orgasm, and he was sweating in his clothes, too hot, but he shoved his sensitive shaft back into his boxers anyway, leaving the zip down as he stared over at his sub's lap. He could see the line of Sam's hard-on, pulled up under his pocket by all the groping and rubbing Sam had gotten in. He reached for it.

"Don't swallow yet," he reminded Sam as he got his hand right on it. "I'm gonna let you in a minute, don't worry."

After a drunk-looking nod, Sam let his head fall back against his head rest in a heavy slump. He drew his lips in tight, his face patchy and red from effort and arousal. Kurt stroked the hard arc of Sam's dick and purred at him, words elongated in his satisfaction.

"Gooood boooy. Keep that come right there in your mouth. It's a lot, isn't it? I wanna just have you like this for a minute, being such a perfect sub. So hard from serving your Dom. So sexy and turned on. Mouth full of come and cock aching in your jeans. Hmm? Don't let yourself swallow it just yet. You have to let me see it first, Sam. I wanna see it in your mouth. Open."

Face squinching, Sam obediently dropped his lips, though he only let them open a sliver. In the dark, the only light some yellowed fluorescents dotted here and there on the ceiling, Kurt could only see a glisten on his lower lip.

He commanded patiently, "Look at me. Let me see it, Sam. Tongue out, honey."

Sam's pink tongue poked out, doing a clumsy and desperate sway and curl to try and keep the cloudy mess of jizz and thickened spit from slipping out. It just had the effect of looking like he was wiggling his tongue teasingly. His eyes were open and slightly focused, but he didn't look like he was seeing anything; his main focus was following orders and trying with some understanding gusto to push his gently curved tongue out, covered with thick wet come, for Kurt to see.

"Good boy," Kurt cooed appreciatively. He gave Sam's hard-on a squeeze. "I love how obedient you are! Go ahead and swallow that for me."

The gulp was quite audible in the quiet car, and once the load was down Sam's throat, he opened his mouth and gasped in fierce shock.

"Mm, good," Kurt told him, fingers sliding warmly along Sam's dick in affectionate rubs. "That's my sweet little sub. Was that good? Servicing your master's dick and having your mouth full of come?"

" _Kurt_ ," Sam moaned, all astonished breath. He looked like a rag doll someone had just barely propped up in the seat, with his head rolling and dipping heavily in Kurt's direction and his arms and legs as slack and heavy as they'd been after Kurt had restrained him.

"Mm, I can feel how hard it got you. Your dick's just suffocating in here..."

Kurt's satisfied sigh and Sam's vulnerable, shaky exhale overlapped. Kurt indulged himself with giving Sam's hard-on full-bodied rubs, then traced with his fingertips around the head at Sam's hip, which was twice as muffled through his pocket.

"My sweet boy," he whispered. "I just know you're full of come for me. But you're just gonna have to wait till I let you blow it."

"Umf," Sam uttered. There was a pleading note to it, but Sam didn't make a move or beg, _Please let me, Kurt_. He leaned there in the seat, eyelids sliding shut then lifting again as if in slow motion, and as Kurt scritched and rubbed him right through his jeans, he just sucked in a breath and let him, perfectly submissive.

"You're not going to come," Kurt told him. As the words were out of his mouth, they felt cruel, because he thought of Quinn – he was doing just as she'd done, and he didn't like the thought of being anything like her. But they came to him and left his lips, anyway, deep instinct, and once they were out he knew they were right, and he shifted gears hard. "No. You don't get to come till I let you. I know you can behave for me. I know you can choke it all down, angel. You're gonna give me all your obedience, Sam. Aren't you, sweetie. Say 'yes' or 'no.'"

"Yes," Sam whispered, beyond dazed, the word coming up from the very depths of him.

"That's right. You know how you need your Dom's permission to come. You can get hard. You can touch yourself. You can make yourself feel good. You can make your dick start dripping. You know how much I love that. You know how much I think about you in your little sleeping bag with your dick so boned in your sweats, that checkered flannel all soft and warm. But you know you can't come. You know your come's for me. You know that, don't you, sweetie."

Sam's head picked up minutely off the rest, then thumped back again heavily. He was in another world, but Kurt didn't exactly have both feet on the ground, himself. It was a little like they weren't even in his car in a parking lot. They could've been in Kurt's bed, or in the discretionary at school, or just about anywhere. Kurt's world had narrowed down entirely to Sam: The heat of his cock burning through his clothes; his huffing, almost reluctant breaths; the flutter of his eyelids over his distracted, glazed stare.

"'S my good boy," Kurt whispered, palming down Sam's long thigh. He had nudged Sam just beyond aroused and submissive to this subbed out mess. This, he thought. This was Sam's subspace. At the very least, it had to be close. He recognized the far-gone heaviness, the lack of fidgeting or wandering attention, the slow responses. Sam wasn't always like this when he was submitting. He wasn't always far-gone.

Fascinated, Kurt just stroked Sam's leg for a long minute, watching Sam exist in his stupor. He could hear Ms. Pillsbury advising him not to take his sub into subspace away from home, but she wasn't there. She didn't matter. He was there with Sam all the way.

"Honey," he finally murmured curiously, lifting his hand to Sam's cheek.

Sam blinked slowly in response. After a heavy pause he breathed, "Kurt."

It was like they were wired together. Before that moment, Kurt had never known it was even possible to feel so connected to someone, so close – especially as Sam seemed so faraway. He cared for Sam so much it was overwhelming. He stroked Sam's cheek gently. He didn't know exactly what he'd done, what button he'd pushed, or when the switch had flicked in his sub. All he knew was that he loved it.

 

*

 

It took about twenty minutes for Sam to naturally wake back up to the real world again, with little pushing or pulling from Kurt. He'd seemed kind of groany and shy as he came around, but had willingly laid his head on Kurt's shoulder for a while and even submitted to let Kurt take him home. He'd never allowed Kurt to take him any further than a bus stop.

Sam navigated him somewhat sluggishly to the American Family Motel. It seemed okay from the outside. Not as nice as a chain, probably, and obviously cheap, but not incredibly skeezy.

"Home sweet home," Sam said in a low voice, gazing at it through the passenger side window. "Wanna tuck me in?"

"Here? Or for real?"

"Real," said Sam.

"Won't I be intruding?"

Sam fiddled with his seatbelt. "No."

"Okay, then, angel. Let me tuck you in," Kurt said, unable to beat back his curiosity about Sam's living conditions and that sleeping bag of his. He saw a couple of kids' bikes on a porch, not even chained to anything, and wondered if they were Stevie and Stacey's and if they would get stolen out here. It was definitely not his business to ask about them, though.

"Please don't be mad," Sam began, "but it's kind of a mess inside. Just a lot of stuff..."

"Please, sweetie. Don't worry about it."

Kurt gathered the shopping bags from his backseat, popping the small plastic bag with the jock straps in it into the larger one that held quite a number of shirts.

The same way he always wanted to carry Kurt's schoolbooks, Sam took it from him, then took Kurt's hand for the short distance from the car to the porch, leading him up the steps to the room on the left and smiling at him foggily before opening the worn red door. Then he paused with the door only open a crack, and Kurt realized it was to let his family have a second to realize someone was coming in.

"Hey," he called hoarsely.

From within, Stacey exclaimed, "Sammy!"

"Hey, Stace. Mom, Dad, I have Kurt with me."

"Kurt? Kurt's with you? Come on in, guys," said Sam's dad.

Sam pushed the door open all the way, enough for Kurt to get a glimpse of a wood-paneled room with enough stacked boxes and strewn about stuff that _Hoarders_ came to mind. Then Stacey appeared in the doorway, tow-headed and big-eyed just like Sam was, wearing a pink cotton nightgown printed with Disney princesses on the front.

"Let me in, squirt," Sam said, backing her up with big brotherly ease.

Kurt carefully followed him in.

He hadn't really been prepared for the reality in front of him. The room was small, much too small for five people to stay in for more than a night or two. And it was messy. It wasn't that it was filthy. The room was just shabby and old, and there was clearly nowhere for the Evans family to pack away the belongings they'd managed to keep hold of. There was no clearly-marked kitchen area. It was just a square room with a closet so small he wondered why whoever built this place had even bothered with it and an equally unacceptable bathroom. Bananas were sitting on a shelf that had been crammed into the corner, and there was a hot plate sitting on top of a cardboard box, unplugged. There was only one bed. Sam's sleeping bag had been left mussed where it lay next to the bed on the brown carpet. A folded-up cot was leaning against one wall, and the small clear space where they were standing was probably where the cot was set up at night. A tiny table was next to the window and had essentially been shoved aside to make room, but it was still covered with folders and papers that looked important.

Kurt scooted in just enough to let Sam close the door behind him. He was absolutely intruding.

"Hello, Kurt," said Mrs. Evans, sitting forward on the bed. She had Sam's English novel open in her hands.

"Hey there, Kurt." Mr. Evans, who had stood, extended a friendly hand, and Kurt reached for it with a smile and gave it a good firm pump. "Nice to see ya."

"Hi, Kurt!" Stacey said, with the air of one not wanting to be left out. She was staring at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. The last time he'd seen her, she had not found his compliments on her Easter dress or Pinky Wigglenose voice amusing and had given him the cold shoulder.

"Hi!" he replied with a grin.

"What's going on with you two?" Mrs. Evans asked. It was a very polite way of expressing some concern at Kurt's sudden presence, he thought.

"Oh," said Sam modestly. "Kurt's gonna tuck me in."

Stevie, who had carved out a space in the corner by the bananas, peered over the bed.

"Bedtime, huh?" Mr. Evans asked.

"Bedtime," Sam confirmed.

"It's early!" Stevie said suspiciously.

"It's almost ten," said Mrs. Evans. "You know what that means."

"Bedtime," Stevie sighed.

"See?" Sam asked, dropping the Macy's bag next to his backpack where it slouched under a chair that was shoved against the wall, looking at Kurt like his family surrounding him so closely was normal and to be expected. "I'm gonna brush my teeth and get in my PJs, so – be right back."

"What's the bag?" Stacey wanted to know.

"Quinn bought me a birthday present," Sam said as he cut toward the bathroom. "It's not for you!"

"Quinn bought you something?" his mother wondered.

"How many strings are attached?" Mr. Evans asked plainly. Kurt felt very firmly that Dwight had the same idea about Quinn that he did. Maybe it just took one to know one with Dominants.

"Well... how was your flash dance?" Mrs. Evans said, changing the subject now that Sam was shutting himself away in the bathroom and the buffer of his presence was gone.

"Perfect!" said Kurt enthusiastically. He had no idea how much Sam told his parents about everyday goings on, but he was used to talking about things that he knew didn't interest his dad. "We didn't get to rehearse much, but it was fun. We did it for our friend in glee club to convince her not to get a nose job. I think it worked. I think she'll cancel her surgery."

"Nothing like some good old PDA," said Sam's dad.

"Little PDA, little light admonishment," Kurt agreed.

"I like this one," said Mr. Evans told his wife with an amused smile.

"Dwight," said Sam's mother reproachfully, thwapping him with her book.

"So what's this tucking in business? Is that slang?" Mr. Evans asked, dropping the smile and crossing his arms. As well as he sort of naturally got along with Sam's dad, it was a formidable sight. However, Kurt actually found Sam's mother somewhat more intimidating; she was less demonstrative.

"No! Not that I know of. I'm just gonna – tuck here, tuck there, say 'sweet dreams' and give his cheek a little pinch," said Kurt rather brazenly.

"This cheek, right?" Sam's dad pointed at his own face.

Kurt laughed, thinking of Sam offering both sets of cheeks up for smacking.

"Yep. It's... kind of my favorite cheek."

"Mary's too."

"Oh!" said Kurt pleasantly, like he and Mrs. Evans shared a coffee order. Sam's mom was shaking her head, but she was also smiling.

"So you're gonna tuck my seventeen-year-old son in," Dwight said, squinting at Kurt.

"Yes, sir. I usually tuck him in over the phone."

"Over the phone."

"Yes."

"Stacey's looking at Sam's present!" Stevie announced. Next to Kurt, Stacey whined at being tattled on.

"That's not nice, Stacey," Mary said firmly.

"I peeked too. It's boring stuff," Kurt assured Stacey, who wiggled away from the bag, penitent. "Just some t-shirts. We glee kids get slushies tossed in our faces so often we all keep extra shirts and jackets in our locker and stuff."

"Really! Slushies? Aren't those cold?" Sam's dad asked.

"Beyond cold."

"Sam's never had a slushie thrown at him," said Mary, with keen eyes.

"Well, he's lucky, then," said Kurt, who was fairly certain Sam had been double-doused by Azimio and Karofsky his first week in glee club but really didn't want to give Sam's parents cause for alarm. He knew all too well the helplessness one could feel after a Big Gulp right in the kisser. "But it never hurts to be prepared!"

The bathroom door opened, and Sam hustled out awkwardly, with his jeans folded under one arm.

"Someone's ready for bed," commented Mr. Evans. "And that someone is not Stacey Evans."

"I'm not sleepy!"

"I am," said Sam. He was depositing his hoodie and t-shirt into a hamper and placing his jeans in another hamper that apparently was just being stacked right on top of the first. "I'm all ready for bed."

"Well, we'll leave you to it," said Mr. Evans, with a dismissive air that made it seem like he'd drawn some kind of invisible privacy curtain, even though he had simply sat himself on the edge of the bed right next to Sam's sleeping bag and there was really no privacy whatsoever.

Sam went for the bag with a warm face, dropping to his knees in a familiar way and wiggling his way into it. As strange as it felt to be there and to be engaging in this ritual that he looked forward to every night in front of Sam's entire family, Kurt knelt by him to watch him snuggle down in the bag – which he'd described with such accuracy to Kurt that Kurt had seen it in his head many times before, almost just like it was now, down to the checkered flannel's colors. Kurt was happy to see it really was thick.

"Do you like it zipped?" he asked Sam.

Sam nodded. He tugged a little abused-looking pillow with a dull blue case on it out from underneath his parents' bed and tucked it under his head, looking up at Kurt shamelessly.

Biting down on a smile, Kurt found the sturdy zipper at the side of the bag and drew it up much of the way. Sam's bare arms weren't in there yet. He had them crossed over his chest, hugging the sleeping bag to him the way he'd clutched his clothes at the mall. Kurt gave them a warm, friendly rub-down.

"Are you comfy?"

Sam gave him another nod.

"I was proud of you today," Kurt said, very aware Sam's parents could hear him, but honestly having eyes for nothing but his sub, whose lids lowered modestly. "Taking down those posters was nice of you, especially after everything you went through with Quinn. I'm happy you can be friends with her. You're a bigger man than I. And I'm so happy you made the flash mob. You didn't have to do that."

Kurt reached out and nudged Sam's cheek with his thumb.

"But I liked spending all that time with you. All the things you told me. Those Laffy Taffy jokes. Your favorite color. The sports you played at your last school."

Sam, whose eyes had fallen shut, insistently nuzzled his cheek into Kurt's palm.

"You know what to wear tomorrow, don't you?" Kurt asked.

With a soft exhale, Sam nodded.

"Yes?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Good boy," Kurt murmured. "I'll do a check tomorrow. Don't forget."

"Yes, Kurt."

Kurt chuckled. "I'm gonna say good night, sweetie. Are you gonna dream some sweet dreams?"

"Hope so," said Sam. "Thank you, Kurt."

After making a pretty unnecessary fuss with zipping the bag up the rest of the way, easing Sam's arms into it, and giving each side a warm tuck around them, Kurt leaned in and gave his sub a brief peck at the corner of his mouth, right where he loved to feel that sweet smile.

"Good night, honey."

"Mm," Sam let out.

Pleased, Kurt stood again and reached out his hand to Dwight to give it another shake.

"Good night," he said softly.

"G'night," Sam's dad echoed, just looking at Kurt with quiet interest. He waved at Mrs. Evans, who smiled at him as if she didn't quite understand what had just happened. Stevie had sprawled out on the floor behind the bed, but Kurt could see him peeking, some action figure in his hand.

As he turned to open the door, he found Stacey peering up at him with her pink rabbit in her arms, and Kurt patted her head on the way out and added, "Good night, Stacey. Good night, Princess Pinky."

Stacey waved to him from the door.

"Bye, Kurt!"


End file.
